To Have a Spark
by BlueSteelRanger
Summary: "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings." It is a concept nearly all can rally behind. But how far does that freedom extend? The question must be faced as intelligent mechanical beings learn of horrifying new concepts: Suicide and the idea that not everyone has a Primus of their own. This story has been re-worked and remains in progress. Warning: Not for the faint of heart.
1. Author's Foreword

**To Have a Spark  
****Author's Foreword**

_To Have a Spark_ is rated M or PG-13 due to content containing self-harm, abuse, the concept of suicide, religious and possibly political "hot button" issues as well as the mention of and/or direct medical use of marijuana. I do not under any circumstances condone breaking state, province or federal law. Nor do I suggest reading this tale for younger or sensitive audiences. There will be swearing of the modern English, foreign-language, Pagan and Cybertronian varieties.

I am not a native speaker of anything except English, so if you are fluent in the languages featured, please feel free to correct me if I mis-translate. I am not an expert in either chemistry, medicine or foreign culture. I have what exposure I have, what research I have and my own imagination. I mean no offence or insult to readers who might be from the featured cultural backgrounds.

And of course, I do not own the Transformers franchise. That is Hasbro's domain. I'm not making money off of this. I'm just writing for sheer pleasure. Again, with the warnings in place, I advise you to turn back now if you consider the above mentioned subjects inappropriate. If you have made it this far and wish to continue reading, I invite you to read on and I hope you find it enjoyable.

-BlueSteelRanger


	2. Prologue

**To Have a Spark  
****Prologue**

"_And for a thousand years they went on talking,  
Making such apt remarks,  
A race no longer of heroes but of professors  
And crooked business men and secretaries and clerks,  
Who turned out dapper little elegiac verses  
On the ironies of fate, the transience of all  
Affections, carefully shunning an over-statement  
But working the dying fall."_  
-Louis MacNeice 

William Renalt Haakon stood frozen in the office. Memorial High had been a blur of transition four months ago since his last transfer from Farrington High. He had missed Kalihi, the warm weather, the open, friendly people. But, with two family members in the military, staying still wasn't really an option. His father had already been killed in the 1997 Cambodia conflict. His mother had become detached after that, pretty much letting his best friend Leonard become brother in all but blood.

Life hadn't been too hard, save for the constant moving around. He had survived the quake in San Francisco, but the family had moved six times since then. A permanent home wasn't something William knew and he was all right with that. He preferred it, actually. Especially now. The dean's words washed over his head. Trembling hands took the neatly folded Braille message. He didn't remember being handed his cane and guided to a chair in the office.

"I'm sorry, William, but only legal adoptions count. I must send you back to class."

The dean spoke in a detached, almost uncaring tone. The only reason he had given William the message was because immediate family was close to out of the question. He turned his back on William to attend to other matters. He didn't seem to mind when the distraught student slowly stood and navigated out of the office.

It was all for the better, really. He could excuse one absence to let the boy compose himself. But then, he had to keep on going, get over it and put the news behind him.

William didn't go directly to history class. He walked, trailing his cane along the low trim of the wall, aimlessly as his other hand deftly read the message. It was amazing the things one's hands could do when one was born without sight. He read it again and again, until the words burned into his mind.

"_...regret to inform you Leonard Rhys Iscalia rests among our fallen numbers...sickness...no cure..."_

The bell rang. He didn't hear it. He didn't hear some of his schoolmates remark on the pallor of his face. He didn't hear the bullies call him a cripple. William walked woodenly out of the school's main doors and didn't attend the rest of school that day.

=s=

Months went by in a chaotic storm of monotony. William had come back a week later, refusing to show his face to anyone. He wore nothing but white, covering his head and face with an occluding veil. He easily cited religious observance and backed it up with several Scriptural examples – White, to a Pagan, was funerary. White in Asia was funerary. Covering one's face was his own decision and each time anyone demanded him to take the veil off, he answered back with a question no one could respond to. The faculty left him alone, conceding the grief process. The student body, with few exceptions, was far less merciful. He went through his classes like a zombie, flatly reminding schoolmates of the stupid, inane things that they should have had the intellectual capacity to know by now.

No, he was not Islamic and no, not all Muslims were "terrorists".

No, Pagans did not worship any "devil".

No, optic nerve hypoplasia didn't have a cure and no, Leonard didn't die from gunfire. He had died of dengue fever. It wasn't incredibly rare but it wasn't incredibly common either, but William supposed that it didn't matter what form it came in. It had killed Leonard. It had frozen William into the misanthrope he was now after hearing one too many diatribes on the weakness of grief.

_He wasn't your real brother._

_How's he doing – Oh, I forgot. He's dead!_

_He wasn't your real brother. Get over it, already._

The winter fell into spring. The days blurred in and out with nothing to mark their passing except the rising and setting of the sun. By now, his mother had practically given up and finally told her son to "get over it". By now, he reflected, maybe he should have. It had been a year. He had dealt with all of it for a year, carrying the message on him like it was a holy relic. And for him, it was. He remembered the stories Leonard told him, the fables of friendship and brotherhood. He remembered the rock-climbing and bouldering excursions. He remembered his first introduction to kung fu, and later, Shotokan karate.

Leonard left for the Army just before the Shotokan dojo had shut down. William had been a blue belt, halfway through a long and arduous training period. He reflected now that he would likely never wear black around his waist. The Five Animals had been Leonard's last gift to him before Cambodia.

William remembered the oath the pair had made two and a half years ago. He remembered it and realised that he was breaking that oath, spitting in the face of all that Leonard had been. As school let out, William walked aimlessly to the edge of town. It was a small town with small-town people and small-town mentality. The layout was too easy to learn, so much that it hadn't even been a challenge. So he ventured to the edge of this small town and went in the direction of the slowly setting sun.

When the road turned off, he chose to keep going straight. The rolling tip of his cane never left the rough ground beneath, and soon enough, warned him of the vertical rock face he now stood before. It was impulsive. It was crazy. It was dangerous. And William didn't care. He folded his cane, fastened it to his belt and began to climb, as Leonard had taught him. He crept like an unsure goat at first, but gained more confidence as he neared the summit of this thing. When he crested the top, William unhitched his cane and began to memorise yet another piece of land. He liked it up here, away from people. Away from the ridicule. Away from the backwards, even primitive nonsense that the small-town people here perpetuated.

He only wished he could get away from the things within him.

_Why do you cover your face?_

_I cannot see you. What gives you the right to see me?_

William felt the weight of his backpack drag on his shoulders. The Braille volumes he carried had always been and were always going to be rather heavy. It was the way it was. He finally took his backpack off after his third circuit around the top of this cliff he had managed to scale. It rested beside a curious cairn of stones far too large to have been constructed by one person. Briefly, he had wondered as he navigated, who it belonged to. Who it commemorated. He knew what a cairn was, no matter whose hands made it.

Night fell over Jasper, Nevada and William stayed up here. He didn't sleep, so he sat beside the cairn and let his memories take his mind away.

However temporary, it was a kind of release.

_I cannot see you. What gives you the right to see me?_


	3. Cymbeline Tears

**To Have a Spark  
****Cymbeline Tears**

"_The candle that burns most brightly is, most often, the shortest lived__."_

Days passed in Jasper, with few if any who noted William Haakon's absence. The small-town police had filed a missing-persons report after forty-eight hours but few had truly reacted. It wasn't a manhunt for a dangerous criminal. It wasn't a desperate search for a small child snatched up by some psychopath. It was, to most in Jasper, just another rebellious teenager running off for a while before he shaped up and came to his senses.

The few that did notice didn't ask much of the others openly around them. They asked different people.

Jack Darby seemed pensive as he rode into the base with Arcee. Upon dismount, he noticed his companions, Miko and Rafael, were as subdued as he was. The silence was getting to be swiftly oppressive. Someone had to say something, thus it was Arcee that spoke up first.

"You three seem a little down. Everything all right?"

Jack was the first to answer. His tone suggested confusion and mild surprise. He had never really heard of anyone from Memorial High going missing for this long.

"A kid in history class hasn't shown up for over a week now and the cops have him listed as missing."

Ratchet turned around; his gaze immediately falling upon the three humans. The others remained silent, awaiting one of them to say something. Before the medic could voice the question in most of their minds, Miko and Rafael took up the tale.

"You mean the sickly-looking kid who's always in white? The blind one?" Miko asked.

"I saw him come out of the bathroom last week. He looked like he was about to pass out."

Optimus Prime decided to speak up at that. His tone was gentle but firm. Although the 'Bots generally stayed clear of domestic or purely human matters, the Prime felt an insidious chill at this.

"Can any of you recall him in days past? Has he made known any signs of medical trouble or...interference?"

They all knew what he meant by that. Interference, be it by humans or inquisitive Decepticons. The three of them had become swiftly entwined with the Cybertronians. It could happen again on the other side. It wasn't a pleasant thought, considering MECH was still skulking out there somewhere. Rafael spoke up again; a somewhat distant expression appearing on his face.

"I remember him. No one really talks to him. He kind of keeps to himself, more than I used to. But this year, he's been acting weird. I never see him outside of school and when he's there, he's like a zombie. Never talks unless Vince or some other jerk is in his face. He's been looking sick since last year."

Miko's eyes widened.

"Raf...do you remember him coming out of the office that day?"

"When?"

"Last year, he came out of the office, before he started covering his face. He looked like he had a bomb dropped on him."

Jack stiffened.

"The obituary. Can you pull it up, Raf?"

The Hispanic boy nodded slowly. It wasn't a hard thing to find and in less than a minute, last year's newspapers came up onto the screen. The conflict in Cambodia. A dengue fever outbreak. Puzzled glances were exchanged as Rafael held up his laptop to show the 'Bots what they found.

"How does this relate to the missing kid?" Bulkhead asked.

"I think...I think I remember him mentioning a sibling. Leonard something," Jack put in.

Arcee peered at the opened windows on Raf's laptop.

"So you think this kid reacted to a family member being sent off to serve?"

The three children shook their heads. Reacting like that to someone going off to the service didn't make sense, but it was a prelude to another idea. One that none of them wanted to give voice to, but one that had to be put on the table.

"Is it possible he was killed or is listed as missing in the field?" Optimus's deep baritone rumbled through the base.

"So, he went crackers?" Miko scratched her head, responding to the Prime's question with one of her own, however brashly it might have been voiced. The Prime nodded. For now, they could only keep an eye or optic out and hope this kid, whoever he was, found his centre. Rafael closed out of the windows on his laptop but found he wasn't in the mood for a video game. Miko picked up her guitar and put it down again. Jack tried to work on his homework, to no avail.

Around them, the Autobots were lost in their own thoughts. They had all seen the horrors of war, had lost close friends and family to it. They knew how it felt to be both the recipient and the bearer of such news. For a while, they kept to themselves, sometimes logically going over what they had been told and rationalising or reasoning how they might have reacted. Or had reacted. It was never an easy thing and between them all, they knew a year wasn't enough.

A year could never be enough.

"Optimus. Do you feel we should scout for this human ourselves?" Ratchet's voice seemed tight. A lump had lodged its way into his throat, making his voice waver a little.

"Yes. But slowly. We must not become a danger or produce more targets for the Decep-" His voice cut off as the hum of June Darby's vehicle heralded her arrival to the base. It wasn't this though, that made the Prime fall completely silent. He raised a hand to silence all attempts to speak to him, acknowledging June Darby with a quiet nod of his head. The Prime looked for a moment like he was straining to hear something too far away to be distinct. He ignored the thunder that had begun and the rain that pelted down onto the base's roof and gave Jasper, Nevada a good soaking.

_When you come back down, if you land on your feet  
__I hope you find a way to make it back to me..._

"Optimus, are you all right?" The nurse met her son in an embrace and gave the Prime a curious look. When the Prime didn't respond, Jack took the lead. He swallowed hard and scratched the back of his head. It was the nervous tic that got June's attention.

"Mom, a kid from our class went missing last week. It's that blind kid no one talks to."

The nurse paled noticeably, gaining concerned looks from human and 'Bot alike. The Prime shifted his gaze down to the woman as she moved to sit on the couch in what had long been declared "the human section" of the base. It took a moment for her to speak. When she did, her voice came out in the level, detached tone only medical personnel could begin to perfect.

"Jack. I am going to ask you several questions. I want honest answers." Jack, Miko and Rafael all nodded in assent.

"You said it was the blind kid, right?"

"Yeah."

"Jack, Miko, Raf. Did any of you witness him do anything strange or potentially dangerous?"

"You mean other than the wearing white, covering his face and looking like he's sick?"

"...Yes, Miko."

Rafael looked up at Nurse Darby with uncertainty in his eyes. He was content to let Jack or Miko speak up at this point.

"Remember when I got detention for a week?" Miko's voice held a nervous tremble. Around the humans, the Autobots had gathered, feeling a new tension in the air.

"We all do. But you never explained fully why," Bulkhead chimed in.

"I bloodied Vince's nose after he terrorised that kid. One of his sleeves was ripped. I saw something on his arm..." Miko and June locked eyes. Fear erupted in the Japanese girl's expression as a stern coldness bloomed in June's own.

"Miko. Are you sure of what you saw?"

"Yeah."

"Describe it. In detail. Now." The command put everyone in the chamber on edge.

Miko closed her eyes, willing herself to remember that day, and relishing the victory she had achieved over Vince. Detention for a week was well worth it but that silver lining rapidly turned into rust before her mind's eye. She remembered the thin, white-clad boy pinned up against the lockers. She remembered the boy's knee meeting Vince's groin as she had rounded the hallway corner. She recalled the grasp of her hands on the bully's arm and the sound of cloth tearing. Vince's victim wasn't identified by face in her mind after that. He was identified by the disturbing lines...marks...scars running the length of his inner wrist. From the heel of his hand nearly to the elbow, she remembered the scars. She finally spoke again with tears welling in her eyes.

"His left arm. It was covered in...cuts. Long cuts, like someone had tried to fillet his arm."

"Nurse Darby, what does this mean to you?" Ratchet wondered at the nurse's sudden and vehement interest in this missing teenager. And such specific interest in what his arms looked like. He didn't like the answer. Worse still, it was an answer he couldn't entirely wrap his processor around. It was confusing, illogical.

"Ratchet, Miko just described self-harm."

"I do not understand, Nurse Darby. Why would a living being inflict harm upon itself?" Optimus spoke solemnly over the low murmurs of the others. They were as in the dark as he was.

"I'm not a psychologist, Optimus. I can at most, send you books on how the human mind works and why things like this appear."

Ratchet wordlessly turned to the nearest Autobot-sized console, rapidly typing away. In no time, he had several documents pulled up. He read them in a few minutes, hardly noticing the tense silence that had taken up behind him. He felt all eyes on him as he worked to understand, to put the pieces together. Absently, he began recounting everything he and the others had heard.

"A classmate ceases attending. That same classmate is reported missing. Miko, Jack, Rafael. You mentioned unusual behaviour. A reaction after exiting your schoolmaster's office. Correct?"

"Correct..." The responses were hesitant.

"Nurse Darby. You speak of self-harm. Violent self-harm. The children found an obituary from last year that coincides with this human's abnormal reaction upon leaving that office." The pieces were falling into a place none of them liked. Optimus Prime listened again for that sound over the rain.

_When the dark wood fell before me  
__And all the paths were overgrown..._

"Nurse Darby. Miko. Jack. Raf. Is there any possibility that this human might have left Jasper entirely?"

"No, Ratchet. He's blind. He can't drive," June replied.

"...no optics..?" Bulkhead sat down, struck with the foreign concept. Disability wasn't something Cybertronians really dealt with. They never had to, in ordinary circumstances. The thought sent a tremble through the great Wrecker's frame and he wasn't alone. The idea was slowly processed by the others.

Ratchet kept on typing at the console. The monitor to his right flickered to life. The medic turned to glance at it and found himself staring in shock.

"All of you. Here. Now!"

"What is it, old friend?" The Prime allowed the others to precede him, given his height next to theirs.

"Just..."

The monitor display was one few would forget after that. On it, the flickering display depicted a figure in white. A makeshift almost-tent stood half-destroyed in the rain. Around it, thick paper was strewn about the ground. At the chaotic spread's centre, the white-clad figure finished what looked to the untrained eye like some kind of dance. It was graceful, if quite amateur. As it concluded, the figure moved to sit before a Thermos and a little phial of what looked like tainted, grayish water. They watched as the figure took off his veil, revealing a gaunt face with sharp, angular features. Tanned skin and light, sandy hair woven into a braid rounded out with a pair of hazel-blue eyes that, for all the world, looked clear and unclouded. They were unfocused and rather twitchy, as if the owner of those eyes could not control them.

He sat with the Thermos now opened. He sang, uncorking the phial and downing it like a dry pill, only to chase it down with the steaming contents of the Thermos. Miko's terrified voice broke the stupor in the room.

"_Seppuku!_"

"What? What was that, Miko?" June immediately turned, speaking in rapid-fire.

"_Seppuku_. Ritual suicide."

"Miko. Jack. Get my bag. Rafael-"

"Miss Darby, I want to stay and help." The boy looked on the verge of tears as Bumblebee knelt, offering his hand. Rafael crawled onto the hand and curled up a little as 'Bee held him against his chassis.

"Raf..."

"Please."

"Bumblebee. Please take Rafael home." Optimus's tone brooked no argument. Arcee transformed, ready to take Jack out of here; Bulkhead at her heels. Upon delivering June's kit, and a quick glance at each other, Jack and Miko joined their guardians. They could be of no further help here. It was silent agreement between them that they'd meet each other outside the base.

"Optimus, he's down. Primus, what did he do to himself?!" Ratchet's voice held an edge to it as the others escorted their charges out of the base. They didn't need to see this any further. June raced up the catwalk to get a better look at the monitor. The white-clad human was down. His skin lost colour and a trace of the silvery-gray tainted water trickled from his mouth.

The Prime flew into action then, both giving and receiving a command.

"Ratchet, the Groundbridge. Now!"

"Get him in here, Optimus! I want that phial!"

It was a flurry of activity as Ratchet and June readied the medical bay. The Prime transformed, racing out of the base. In moments, he was back in bipedal form, clawing his way up the cliff side. Under his breath, the massive Cybertronian growled a prayer.

"By the All-Spark, don't be too late."


	4. There is No All-Spark

**To Have a Spark  
****There is No All-Spark**

"_Death most resembles a prophet who is without honour in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people."  
__-_Khalil Gibran

Optimus Prime stood on the summit of the mesa that housed Omega One. The rain drenched him, but he didn't care. He ignored the thunder, the lightning, the wet earth and stone beneath his peds. Brilliant blue optics widened, locking onto his quarry. For a second, the mech stood frozen, unable to process what was directly in front of him. A being that could wilfully harm itself. Why? How? Would instinct to survive not surface? Or was the instinct somehow forcibly eradicated? Optimus moved in the next second, barely aware that he was murmuring to himself as massive hands swept up their prize. In one, he cradled the human and in the other, his fingers gingerly pinched around the phial.

"Primus, please please please, do not do this. Hold on, just hold on..."

It wasn't easy to wait the thirty seconds for the Groundbridge to meet him up there. It was agreed that the Prime would transform as little as possible, given what he was bearing. He almost ran through the glowing portal when it finally appeared and no one n the base questioned the faint stains on his face, diluted by the rain. The Prime knelt when a gurney rolled to him, placing his cargo upon it. June took the phial. She couldn't analyse it here, so she watched as the Prime and Ratchet bore a suicidal teenager to the medical bay, fighting to ensure his survival. As they worked, connecting intravenous feeds and monitor lines, she turned her back. She couldn't watch this for another time.

Optimus stepped back, allowing Ratchet to do what he did best. It wasn't long before he noticed the woman seemingly frozen beside him. The Prime's rumbling baritone carried through the base now at something just above a whisper. There was fear in his voice and he knew it. He had lived for many aeons by now, had seen many things that would frighten so many others. Yet here he was, fear finding a place in his voice.

"Nurse Darby. You seem...troubled."

"I...I am, Optimus. I can't do this again," June responded.

"Do you care to speak of it?" He could do this. He could ask. He could be the strong one. He had to be, for he was the Prime. Quietly, he led the human to the other side of the room. June sank onto the couch, her left hand clutching the phial as if it held some dirty secret.

"I've seen this kid admitted to the hospital more than once this past year. The first time was mid-year last year. Optimus, this isn't the first time he's tried to do this to himself. The first time, I found rope-burns around his neck."

Optimus kept silent, only offering a nod to invite her to continue.

"A month later, another call came in. He had cut himself. The scary thing was that he knew how to do it properly. It wasn't amateurishly done. He knew. He did the research. I had to put stitches into both of his arms that day. As the months went by, he kept on coming in, each time doing more and more harm to himself. And each time, he got thinner. Paler. He refused to eat. I'd suggest counselling but he'd never say a word. He'd just give me this look as if I was the crazy one, not him."

"Is there a treatment for this? He sounds...disturbed."

"He _is_ disturbed, Optimus! No rational human would do this to himself. I – I need to analyse this. Find out what it is."

"Nurse Darby. Perhaps we can do that here. Whatever it is, I can tell you that his bloodstream is saturated with it," Ratchet's voice called from the medical bay. With his back turned, he didn't see Prime or June come to join him. She wordlessly offered the phial up to the medic. Her hands trembled, compelling the Prime to offer his hand. She could at least sit and regain herself. Prime tried to offer comfort by gently wrapping a finger around her as he lifted the human to better see Ratchet's monitors.

The medic grumbled, peering intently as a sample of the phial's residue was taken under a slide. The reading came out as if _yin_ and _yang_ were suddenly turned in on themselves, as if this was something so utterly foreign it couldn't be understood. And then the halves were pieced together.

"Primus, what is this? Lead...arsenic..."

"Belladonna," June Darby clung to Optimus's finger. The formula was haphazard, a complete guess as to the amount of each component. Yet it was familiar and she thought back to her days in medical school. Medical history wasn't her favourite subject. Still, various toxins had been covered, both natural and man-made and their effects on the human body. Several formulae had been lost to history, including this one.

"Are these not toxic to humans?" Ratchet asked.

"Yes...very. This is disgusting. Why would-"

"Nurse Darby, is this a combination you've seen before?" The Prime's optics shifted down.

"Once. In medical school, historical poisons were covered, but this was lost to history. No one knows how these were put together any more, but the combination says one thing. _Aqua Tofana_. It was first noted by a noblewoman in Renaissance Italy. She used it to poison her husband and political enemies."

"So how do we treat this? It's as if he's saturated himself with it!" The medic's voice had raised a little, fighting the panic growing within.

"I don't know...We have physostigmine for the belladonna, but the metals... How did he even get hold of those?!"

"Optimus, all we have is energon. Energon and water. That can't be enough, can it?"

The Prime considered. "Nurse Darby. Bring us your physostigmine. We will try to flush him of the metals ourselves. We have little time to work with."

"You know that healing the body won't be enough, don't you?" Ratchet frowned at the Prime. Optimus knelt, letting June get off of his hand. He watched her rifle through her kit, saying nothing. Both 'Bots wondered if it was unusual for the nurse to carry an antitoxin like this with her. Neither asked. June passed a human-sized syringe up to Ratchet and watched him work. For a being with hands as large as his, the medic displayed only surety, deftly administering the first part of treatment to his inert patient. For the rest, he wondered what they would have to do. It was on this that the Prime spoke.

"Ratchet. Nurse Darby. I understand that none of us are experts into how the mind, human or Cybertronian, works. But, I believe we do not have the luxury of human mind-physicians or the time they would need."

"I'm inclined to agree, Optimus, but what can we do? As a medic, I cannot in good conscience physically treat this human and let him out there on his own," Ratchet looked to June and spoke for them both upon her silent nod of approval.

"Before I voice a suggestion, Ratchet, Nurse Darby, I shall request that everyone be present. I will not voice it until then. I do not wish to cause alarm, but everyone must understand what we are dealing with."

=s=

The air in the Darby house felt heavy. Three children sat on the couch torn between weeping and throwing something in frustration. Outside, they knew comfort in that their guardians were there, watching each other's backs. None of them though, could get the images and discoveries of the past day out of their heads. The children drifted from silence into shaken conversation.

"Raf, it'll be okay. The 'Bots got to him."

"I know, it's just.. I wonder if we could have done things differently."

"What do you mean?"

"No one ever talked to him, except that bully Vince. Even the teachers seemed nervous around him."

"I don't think it was him. I think it was the rumours. Rumours of evil practises and creepy rituals. I know they're bunk but who in Jasper has met a Pagan?"

"Miko, you're Buddhist aren't you?"

"Yeah. It's not quite the same thing, but there are similarities. We're kind of a minority here, Jack. Minorities get attacked by white, suburban kids in this country. And if you're handicapped, it's even worse. Japan went through a jerk phase too..." Miko didn't like admitting hard truths.

"You have a point. When he came out of the office that day, I think everyone saw a vulnerability."

"What if we talk to this kid when Ratch' gets done saving his neck?" Jack, Miko and Rafael nodded to one another, embracing briefly. It was strange, disturbing to think that in relative inaction, something could have been avoided. Such heaviness was lightened when each recalled their own memories. Coming through now was going to count big-time.

Miko's cell phone rang.

The trio went out to meet their guardians and return to base.

Show time.


	5. Darkside Lines

**To Have a Spark  
****Darkside Lines**

"_In reality, we are all travellers – even explorers of mortality."  
__-_Thomas S. Monson

The sight that met the other Autobots and their charges as they entered the base was almost normal. Except not. Ratchet almost hunkered down beside his patient, June on the catwalk above him. The patient lay like a dead man, save for the numerous tubes and lines connected to him. Keeping him alive. Fighting to flush his body of the poisons he had tainted himself with. Once the children were out and the others Transformed, the group gathered around their Prime. He stood tall, appearing like he always did, as if he could take on the world and come out unscathed. And yet something was different about him, a crack in the impenetrable armour.

The base was silent. No one greeted Agent Fowler as he entered through the human-sized elevator. For once, even the loud-mouth had nothing to say. Fowler had seen the medical records. He had turned up family information on the stranger in their midst.

"I understand that this is not something we Autobots typically get involved in. This should be a human affair. However, we found this human atop Omega One and witnessed him inflict great harm, possibly with intent to..." The Prime hesitated. The thought of saying his next words put a foul taste in his mouth.

"This kid tried to kill himself," Fowler stepped in.

Ratchet didn't make a sound when Bulkhead half-sat and half-fell onto a tool, crushing it. The ubiquitous cry of "I _needed_ that!" didn't echo through the base. Arcee turned her back, face in her hands. Bumblebee simply stood there, unable to process what he'd just heard. As Fowler gave Optimus a quick glance, the 'Bot responded with a slow nod. He found he couldn't speak now. Within the core of himself, the Prime fought down the urge to empty his tanks.

"Suicide. It's never pretty. Thirty-thousand people end their own lives in a given year. Most from emotional trauma or psychological impact. Nurse Darby, I brought up the records of this William Haakon kid-"

"Thirty _thousand_...?" No one begrudged the Prime as his deep voice echoed the statistic in shock.

"So why is he doing this to himself?" Ratchet was the first to spit the question out amid his own desire to settle his innards.

Fowler said nothing. Meeting Nurse Darby, he handed over a thick manilla folder and watched dispassionately as she read off the file. Only three names into it, the nurse hesitated, noting this "Sworn Brother"'s date of death. Her eyes lifted, meeting Fowler's gaze. The special agent frowned, glancing at the others in the base. He noted the children's faces go pale. He missed a tear that tracked its way down Miko's face.

"Name: William Renalt Haakon III  
Age: 15  
Father: William Renalt Haakon, Jr. (_Deceased_)  
Mother: Meredith Carisse Haakon née Sierra  
Sworn Brother: Leonard Rhys Iscalia (_Deceased_)..."

"This Leonard guy...He died last year. Last year, when...He came out of the office," Rafael murmured.

"Agent Fowler. What did this Leonard Iscalia perish from?" Ratchet and Optimus spoke almost in unison. They silenced upon Fowler's raised hand. He gave a sigh.

"There was a conflict in Cambodia last year and some of our men were reassigned. Leonard was newer, but they sent him over. First tour of duty. There was a dengue fever outbreak...Some guys were hit harder than others. Some died. He was one of them."

"Agent Fowler, what's this business about a 'sworn brother'? I've never heard of that on anyone's legal documents before," Raf almost choked out the question.

"Apparently he identified himself as a somewhat eclectic 'Asatru-Shinto Pagan'. Basically, that means that he had blended two branches of Western Pagan and Asian indigenous practise into one amalgamated belief system. While unusual, it's common among Pagans to have a full diaspora of deities and figures of worship. Not that I consider that a real religion, but-"

"Agent Fowler!" The Prime's voice cut him off in a low roar. "I will not permit you or anyone else to demean the cultural practises of anyone that do no harm. Does not your law protect him as equally as yourself?"

Fowler had the good grace to blush.

"Miko. You mentioned a form of ritual suicide. I was under the impression that such rituals are done with the blade, are they not?" Prime continued.

"Yeah, usually. But if you can't get at a blade, there are...other ways. Ways that are considered a last resort, ways that some consider less honourable. He must've thought he had no other alternative," Miko turned away then, not wishing anyone to see the tears that threatened to follow the first.

"Optimus. We need to purge him now if there's to be any chance," Ratchet looked stern. Time was ticking away. Not noticing the silence that fell around them, Ratchet, Optimus and June surrounded their patient. The Prime wordlessly extended an arm. They had energon to spare but that which ran through Cybertronian chassis was already cleaned of the impurities present in energon ore deposits. Optimus's war-mask clipped into place as Ratchet drew the sample. June darted around the 'Bots to hook a large water bag to the second IV tube. They had one chance at this.

She had wanted to take her patient to the hospital at first, recognising the need to cleanse him as rapidly as possible. Her rationale however, crumbled when she realised just how far they were from Jasper's medical facility. The others soon drifted to join them in the medical bay. Each kept to his or her own thoughts, some asking why or how. Others wondered if this William was somehow "crackers", as Miko had put it. The Prime stood in silence, mulling over what he had learned. It spawned an idea within, one even he was reluctant to voice. Still, what options did they have? The Cybertronian sounded like he took a breath.

"Autobots...I have a proposal. I am not fond of it myself, but I believe our options are limited enough that this may be the only viable path. I wish to employ a modified cortical psychic patch."

"A what's-it?"

"A cortical psychic patch. It was developed by Decepticons during the war to extract information from captives. It was outlawed by Autobots long ago," Ratchet explained.

"How does it work?" Fowler's voice held a slight tremble.

"Two participants, willing or not, connect via a port in the back of their helms. A specific cable provides the connection and opens up the processors of both individuals, allowing a one- or two-way path to communication. Optimus, I may know the literature, but are you certain? This is a technique used between Cybertronians-"

"So how can you use that on a human? Is it even ethical? What will it do to you?" June Darby glared up at her Autobot companions, fear backing up the indignation she felt as a medical practitioner.

"Exactly, Optimus," Ratchet came back. The medic watched the monitors as energon and water came together, diluting a usually powerful element, and streaming it through a human's body. It was less impressive than the treatment Rafael had received to purge him of dark energon, but there was a definitely visible change. William's skin seemed to dye a peculiar shade of blue that didn't quite glow when it came close to the surface.

Without waiting for a response, Ratchet backed away, ushering the others out of the medical bay. No one liked the Prime's idea. No one relished the fact that no, time was not necessarily on their side. It took more than keeping flesh alive. It took an inner will to keep going and by all accounts, William had lost such a will. Lost the desire to keep going.

"I will think further upon this if you wish me to, Autobots. I request you do the same, but do not take too long. A stranger's life is still a life."

The Prime fixed his powerful gaze on everyone within the base. They knew he meant business and watched him turn to go to his own room. There was much to face and little time to face it in. The humans moved to their own section. June wondered secretly what kind of paradoxes these Cybertronians really were. They had endured horrors only veterans could dream up. They had lost their very world. They had faced down evils she couldn't fathom; they had essentially faced a god and won.

And yet, they had retained an innocence all their own. She only hoped that this event wouldn't strip them of it entirely.


	6. Reasons Why: Arcee

**To Have a Spark  
****Reasons Why: Arcee**

"_Breathe life into this feeble heart  
Lift this mortal veil of fear  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears  
We'll rise above these earthly cares__."  
_-Loreena McKennitt;_ Dante's Prayer_

Arcee paced. Like a caged lioness, she couldn't keep still. Her mind whipped back to the past, grappling with the present. She knew what it was to lose someone called a brother. She knew it almost as well as the Prime himself, but there was one key difference. She could hit back. She could scrap Airachnid, she could take Airachnid's spark out and avenge Tailgate. She could do the same to Starscream and avenge Cliffjumper. She had concrete foes and a concrete cause. You couldn't go after something you couldn't hit back.

And that disturbed her. She was lucky. But what would she have done if Cliff or Tailgate had been killed by a virus? She couldn't punch a virus. She couldn't shoot a disease. As the others had dispersed to think on what the Prime had suggested, the femme avoided looking anywhere near the medical bay. It was unsettling, calling everything she knew into question. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, but did that freedom extend to ending one's own life? Did it extend into simply giving up? _Was_ this human giving up on anything? Arcee finally caved, walking directly to the Prime's private chamber and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Optimus's voice was low and subdued. Arcee noted her leader's posture as he sat on the edge of his berth. The Prime looked as troubled as she felt even as he offered a comforting almost-smile.

"Optimus, I don't understand this. I don't-"

"The actions of a desperate, grieving human?"

"Desperate?" She sat beside her Prime and gazed up at him. Her confusion showed, with an undercurrent of distaste.

"Yes, Arcee. Did you not hear Agent Fowler?" His tone became gentle, long-suffering.

"We all did. This Leonard person died from a sickness. And the human reacted. Why? It seems too much like giving up to me."

"Giving up on whom, Arcee?"

"I...Himself? The world around him?"

"Arcee. Let me ask you this. What did you do when Tailgate and Cliffjumper were taken from us?"

The femme shuddered at the question. Optimus forever had that habit of getting right to the painful heart of whatever matter he addressed. It was almost creepy in the way he did it. Letting out what equated to a sigh, she thought back. Arcee spoke, ignoring twin tracks of diluted blue tears making their way down her face plates.

"I shut everything out. I had missions to complete. There was a war going on..."

"Exactly. You had objectives. What would you have done without those objectives? What would you have done if you truly believed there was nothing left?"

Arcee fell silent for a long while. This question was one she had wanted to avoid asking. One that forced her to stare at herself and scrutinise. What would she have done? Would she still be here? Would she have fallen into a state so low that indeed, Arcee of Crystal City, would not be here? She didn't like what she learned in the silence of her own processor. Were it not for the missions, were it not for the fact that she could hit back, were it not for Team Prime... Arcee let the Prime embrace her. He let her weep until she pulled back, wiping her optics.

"The human has no mission. No objective to complete. He can't face it down. He can't hit back. No way to..."

"No, Arcee, he does not."

The Prime watched his warrior rise and leave the room without another word. He didn't stop her, knowing that it was something only an individual could wrap his or her own mind around.


	7. Reasons Why: Bumblebee

**To Have a Spark  
****Reasons Why: Bumblebee**

"_Once you start asking questions, innocence is gone."  
__-_Mary Astor

As Arcee before him, Bumblebee had to wrestle with the confusion brought with the situation now laid out before him. At first, he had come to Raf, sweeping the child up into a protective hold. The scout couldn't imagine losing the little boy in his charge. That little boy who was already beginning to see the years of manhood upon him. Rafael had settled into an uneasy comfort in 'Bee's hands; the two promising each other up and down that neither would give up. That neither would fall to such depths. Yet in all honesty, the pair wondered what could bring someone to that end. In their innocence, they couldn't entirely fathom the grim concepts before them.

Bumblebee had seen the atrocities of war and had borne the scars that come with it. That was his only extent – he knew what death on the battlefield was. Rafael knew death as he had faced it at the end of a Decepticon's gun. He had faced it, nearly danced with it, when dark energon had tainted his body. Yet he had escaped all of that, retaining the innocence of never knowing what it was to wish one's own life ended.

Eventually, Rafael and Bumblebee parted, each to seek his own wisdom on a thing neither wished to understand. Bumblebee trudged down the halls to Optimus's quarters and, like Arcee before him, knocked.

"Come."

The scout found his Prime in much the same way Arcee had. He gave a sequence of buzzing clicks and sat on the floor at his Prime's feet.

"I am...as well as I can be, given the situation. I am sorry, Bumblebee," Prime's voice held a solemnity in its rumbling baritone that the scout didn't like. "I am sorry, to expose you to these things. The war. Now this. I had hoped your innocence could remain intact."

The scout beeped back.

"I cannot be sure I can explain it to you. I know you understand loss and I will not patronise you."

Another sequence of beeps and chirrs. _Try_.

"We have lost much in the war. Yet we have always had something or someone to hold onto. When there is no such option, what is left? I have always believed that freedom is the right of all sentient beings."

Beep-beep. _Is there an end to freedoms?_

"I do not know. It is wrong to enslave another being. One might even say it is wrong to end one's own existence. It is often seen as giving up. As casting away a better possibility."

Beep-chirr. _Does life truly end? We have Primus...who do the humans have?_

"That is the question, Bumblebee. We have proof of Primus, of the All-Spark. If we so chose, we could journey back to Cybertron. I could show you the Well of All Sparks. I could trace the journey to Primus that I had undergone when the Council named me Prime. I could show you all of this."

Bumblebee lowered his head, buzzing softly. _The humans don't have that?_

"No, Bumblebee. They don't have such definitive proof. They have speculations, paths of thought. Many thousands of tenets exist here and not a shred of proof for any one of them."

The scout stood up then, his brow plates creasing into a determined line._ When we fall, who catches us? When we find no belief, who presents us with the paths ahead?_

Optimus almost-smiled again. "When the mighty fall, who is there to catch them?"


	8. Reasons Why: Bulkhead

**To Have a Spark  
****Reasons Why: Bulkhead**

"_Far from the stars  
__There might be a higher being we may not yet see  
__Far from the stars  
__A better life could wait for me."  
__-_Helloween; _Far From the Stars_

"It doesn't make _sense!_" Bulkhead growled as another lobbing ball ended its life on the training room floor. The Wrecker wielding that ball practically sizzled with the fire he felt within himself. Miko wasn't far behind, watching from a catwalk safely above lobbing distance. She too, had her mind on the issue but the battle in her mind was not what one might expect. A certain serenity had leaked its way into the darkness of her thoughts. Culturally, she found it a strange mix of East and West – usually something that bored her to tears. This time though, it frightened her.

"Bulk?"

"Yeah?"

"Cybertron doesn't have _Seppuku_, does it?"

Bulkhead came to Miko and offered out his hand. She eagerly accepted and let him place her on his shoulder. He didn't miss the shine of tears in her eyes or the flash of relief on her face as she heard his reply.

"I don't know what that is, Miko. What is it?"

"It's something warriors in old Japan did. If they were captured by an enemy, Seppuku was a form of...suicide. The samurai would take his own life in a ritual that got...pretty elaborate."

"But this kid isn't captured by enemies. He doesn't have any information that'd fall into wrong hands or anything."

"No, Bulkhead, but Seppuku also had a lot of things to do with honour. If one who called himself a warrior thought he was shamed enough, or dishonoured himself, or broke an oath, he'd perform _Seppuku_."

The Wrecker froze. Miko felt him shudder beneath her. When the two locked eyes, a wordless expression passed their faces. In the next moment, Bulkhead gently set Miko down on the floor and practically ran to find the Prime.

"Optimus! Optimus!" The Prime glanced up, hearing Bulkhead calling his name rather than the knocks on his door. Standing, the massive Cybertronian emerged from his room to find Bulkhead right in front of him. Optimus extended a steadying hand to calm him down. Ushering the Wrecker into his room, the Prime said nothing until both he and Bulkhead sat on his berth. It was a Cybertronian breath later when Bulkhead spoke.

There was an unusual fear in his optics.

"Optimus, we gotta get this kid to see sense."

"Bulkhead. Perhaps if you explained in detail?" Prime responded calmly.

"There's this human thing...Miko described it. This suicide thing..."

"Yes. Seppuku. She mentioned it earlier. Have you discovered its purpose?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't make sense. The kid's not a soldier like us; he doesn't have secrets that any enemy would want..." Bulkhead trailed off.

"That is not all such a ritual is used for, is it?"

"I... No. It's not. Miko said it had to do with honour and oaths and stuff," Bulkhead frowned at his Prime, uncaring of any perceived weakness. He was a Wrecker. He didn't run from peril. And usually, Wreckers didn't need to call for backup.

"You heard Agent Fowler. I do not believe it would be too far-fetched to imagine this human seeking to follow his companion."

"But why?"

"Is it so difficult to imagine one comrade wishing to protect the life of another?"

"No, but how does that apply? He didn't see battle, Optimus. His buddy..."

"...Died on a battlefield even though he perished from a virus. It was still a battle, Bulkhead. Now, our visitor has fought a battle of his own. One that did not involve soldiers or gunfire. This one was a war within himself. An objective-less war, with no clear definition of a prize or a cause. All our visitor knows is that one to whom he was close to is now gone. All he understands now..."

"An objective-less war? But survival is an objective, isn't it?"

"Perhaps not enough of one. Do you recall the fall of Altihex?"

"Of course I do. The city was one of the first that fell during the war."

"One of the first, Bulkhead. Not the last. Had we not found Earth, and Cybertron had fallen, where would you have gone? What would you do?"

The Wrecker couldn't answer that and in all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to.


	9. The Long Now

**To Have a Spark  
****The Long Now**

"_Why do men compose such tales as Damon and Pythias, speaking so highly of brotherhood's bond, when men themselves cannot meet its own ideal?"_

It was time.

Time to face themselves, face the demons that now loomed in unfamiliar, frightening height before them.

The Autobots and humans hovered over a strange contraption that resembled a helmet and a fish-bowl that had gotten together. It was crude, a prototype that they couldn't afford to botch, that they had no time to test. It was all a risk, yet it was one whose reward would mean one less statistic. One less life ended by that life's own hand. One more soul that could be rescued from himself or from whatever demons which had driven him to these ends.

Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead had conferred alone and amongst one another as the humans had. The debates had been strong – Free will versus the fundamental instinct to survive. Free will untainted by clouded judgement versus that same free will, temporarily compromised, in order to clear that same judgement; Clarity against darkness of another kind. They had finally come together with an objective in mind. They could allow this, if at least to clear grief-ridden judgement. They could do this, holding onto the hope that they could save a life. If that life chose not to be saved, there wasn't much they could think of. If that life chose not to be saved, Team Prime stood before such a choice, stymied.

In truth, they baulked at the idea of it.

"Ratchet, do we have the device ready?"

The Prime's voice was steady as always, but something in his eyes almost betrayed the unease he felt. He recalled the quiet time, deducing what could logically be done, what the limits were and how much time they realistically had. Which, by any count, wasn't much. The conclusion had come, perhaps hastily by some arguments, but by others, it was a logical course.

The medic had spent several hours constructing a helmet-like device, employing temporary help from the youngsters Team Prime had taken under their wing. Only their hands could do the work required – it took a human to fit another human, but it took a Cybertronian mind to come up with the daunting idea of entering another mind altogether. None felt right about this, yet it was an impossible choice. At least with this, there was a chance of redemption. There _was_ something to go back to.

The medic nodded silently. Now, words were barely necessary. As Ratchet handed the Cybertronian-sized end of this whole contrivance to the Prime, he gestured to the others. They didn't need to be witness to whatever chaos which was to be entered into. The humans didn't need to further darken themselves by witnessing whatever demons this William had cavorting within his head. The response Ratchet got however, was both disturbing and warming.

"We're staying. We can't back out now if we wanted to," Arcee spoke for them first. In her few words, she solidified the loyalty between them, and broke a hidden barrier of human social taboos. Suicide was frightening, more than taboo in too many ways to speak of. Yet, to not speak of it, to ignore it or ostracise one that felt it was the only answer was tantamount to killing that person. It was abandonment to them. It was, plainly, murder in itself, to socially "mark" one with such feelings, to deny them the chance to find the better things in life. In her few words, Arcee had recognised something in the humans and her fellow Cybertronians. All had a spark, literal or otherwise. And these sparks were worth protecting.

"Are you certain?" Ratchet came back sceptically. Who knew what things might be discovered? Who knew if this would work in the first place? Could they face that failure?

None of them backed out.

"Let us begin. Ratchet, if you please," Prime's voice was strangely hoarse as he took his place on a Cybertronian-sized berth beside William's. He peripherally noted Ratchet place their contraption on William's head, calming himself as well as he could to prepare for the journey ahead. It was a journey, even if he never left Omega One.

"Be gentle, Optimus," Agent Fowler spoke up. Ratchet closed his optics just before he flipped the switch.

"Bring us back two lives. Yours and his."

=s=

_The Prime stood in a barren wasteland decorated with the remains of something that used to be magnificent. Around him, the ground was dry and cracked, as if water on this landscape had not come in far too long. Shattered remnants of what he surmised were towers, citadels and fortresses stood defiled and stained in the blood of words. The mark of wounds no one could see, scars inflicted by word rather than a physical blow._

_His pedfalls were slow, careful, as if he walked upon a glass floor. Hung in the air around him, suspended by nothing at all, were broken shards of mirrors. Some were clear and almost bright. Others were shadowed with a sort of grime, their 'glass' darker and foggy. Memories assaulted the Prime from all angles, so he stood still for a moment, to observe them one at a time._

_The first one sent him nearly running, clear past the mirror-shards clustered around it._

_Children screamed in terror. Around them, the walls of their pre-school facility came down. A bookshelf came down upon the head of a small boy. His screams were instantly silenced. The ground beneath the children moved like a roiling ocean, pitching this way and that. A light-haired child curled up beneath a heavy desk that had been nailed to the floor._

_At the next one he nearly ran into, Optimus Prime first nearly purged, then roared in pure, righteous fury._

"_You defective little brat! You're in Pennhurst now, with all of the other disgusting cripples! Why they don't euthanise you little brats is beyond me. Put you to sleep and out of society's misery!" A large hand slapped a child's face, nearly flinging the child into a filthy, cracked wall. The child was roughly five or six years old._

_Optimus' glowing eyes narrowed first, then softened at the memory he passed on his left._

"_Congratulations, William. You're a hero. You helped us catch a dangerous man." A police officer smiled at the child, now about eight years old._

_Optimus soon reached a mirror that seemed to nearly glow with a fierce light, out-shining its brightest companions. Curious, yet mindful of his surroundings, the 'Bot approached slowly and peered in._

"_Yame! Yoi. We have a new student, Pupils. His name is William. Leonard, you will be his Sempai," An older woman with greying hair nodded to a youngish man-boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes. The man-boy smiled, bowed to his teacher, then offered the nervous thirteen-year-old boy the same courtesy._

"_Osu. I'm Leonard. Leonard Rhys Iscalia."  
_"_Osu. I'm...I'm William."  
_"_Just William? No full name?" Leonard teased.  
_"_I have a stupid name."  
_"_What is it?"  
_"_You'll laugh at me."  
_"_No I won't. I swear."  
_"_You swear?"  
_"_On my grandmother's ashes."  
_"_William Renalt Haakon III."  
__A pause. "I like that. So, can I call you Renault?"  
__A blush. "Sure. Is there another William here?"  
_"_Yeah, he's the other Sempai."  
_"_Oh, okay."_

_A later date.  
_"_What song is that?"  
_"_Brothers in Arms, why?"  
_"_Can I learn it?"  
_"_Why not? I like listening to it when I'm reading Damon and Pythias."  
_"_Damon and who?"  
_"_Want to hear?"  
_"_Yeah."_

_Another later date.  
_"_This is how I do friendship, Renalt. You sure about this?"  
__A thirteen-year-old boy nodded solemnly. He didn't need to say anything. The older of the two, now a man rather than a boy, produced a small but elaborately decorated knife. Carefully, he sterilised it, then sliced a small cut on William's right hand. He repeated the process on his own. The two clasped their cut hands until the trickle of blood between them dried. They pulled apart and Leonard sterilised their hands. With his knife put away, Leonard pulled a pair of gold earrings from his pocket and offered one to William.  
__As one, they pierced their ears._

"_From here unto forever, brothers are we. Brother to brother, yours in life and death."_

Optimus Prime woke moments later. Wordlessly, he sat up and dashed pale blue tears from his optics. He didn't fail to notice the others surrounded him, doing the same.


	10. Will and Ability

**To Have a Spark  
****Will and Ability**

"_How a society treats its disabled is the true measure of a civilisation."  
_-Chen Guangcheng

"Oh, my..."

Silence echoed Ratchet's hoarse voice. Optimus slowly sat up, gazing through blurred optics at his team, human and Cybertronian. Jack and Arcee had their backs turned, shoulders set in a stiff posture. Miko wept, curled up in Bulkhead's hand. Raf and Bumblebee clung to each other in silence. The scout held a hand near his charge's face, as if to try and shield the boy. June Darby's eyes were wide as a hand came up to her mouth. Fowler only shook his head.

"What have we gotten into?" For once, the Prime almost didn't pin the voice that belonged to the question. It may as well have come from more than one of them at once.

"We must...We must try. Keep trying," Optimus unsteadily stood and, without a word, trudged to his berth room. Ratchet watched him leave, shaking his head in some strange emotion between dismay, spark-break and confusion. Could they work with this? Could they go further into what was obviously a mind ripe for the twisting? They weren't gods, yet they had the tools right here, at their fingertips.

"I don't think the kids need to be here right now," June whispered.

The other Autobots nodded in silent accord. As one, they transformed and escorted their human counterparts out of Omega One. Fowler and June moved away to sit on the couch. Ratchet removed the patch contrivance from his patient's head and went to join the adults. For a while, none of them spoke. None of them seemed to react beyond a silent shock that rolled through like a storm. Finally, June spoke up.

"What kind of..._monsters_ would treat children like that?"

Fowler sighed. "We're not as stellar as we think we are, June. Places like that...still exist. They aren't as infamous as Pennhurst, but they're out there. When police find them...the ones that do their jobs, that is...these facilities are seized and shut down. The tenants are relocated, treated for injuries and placed in foster care. It's...not perfect."

"Agent Fowler, I'm not familiar with your Earth's history. Care to explain?" The look Fowler gave the medic said very clearly that he did not like doing this. He was a soldier, one of Uncle Sam's own. And like any upright soldier, he felt a chilling disgust at the dark side of American history.

"During the early twentieth century, there was...a thought. It's called Eugenics. It basically states that if you are not a fully able bodied person, you were not fit to live. You're not considered an American citizen. You were hidden, locked up in these asylums and no one cared. Abuse, unethical experiments, murder. You name it, it happened. Some think it was inspired by Adolf Hitler's ideology."

"Hitler?"

"A human dictator, Doc-Bot. He brutally murdered twelve million humans in a span of about five years, because he believed they were literally unfit to live."

June shuddered as Ratchet turned abruptly away. The medic almost ran to the nearest disposal bin he could find and violently purged. No one mentioned the echoes of weeping down the hall as the medic slowly returned to the human section of the base.

"You all right, Ratchet?" June whispered.

"No, I'm...I'm not. I will not be until we can deal with this."

"Do we let Prime go in again?" Fowler stood, breathing deeply. His dark skin had an unpleasant hint of green.

"Do we have a choice?"

"Agent Fowler, where are his parents?" June asked.

"One's dead. The other is...distant. The family moved around a lot – Military, you know. After two years in a Florida asylum, the family was relocated and the asylum shut down, turned into an actual hospital. This kid pretty much got on on his own. After the third suicide attempt, I don't know."

"All I know is that the hospital bill was paid post-haste, Agent Fowler."

"Figured. Parents have it rough when their kids turn out...handicapped. Even worse when things like this come up."

"Perhaps, Agent Fowler, you could notify the patient's parent. And...let us have this bill?" Ratchet questioned. An optic ridge rose a little. The Cybertronian had a basic understanding of currency, but beyond that, he wasn't the wiser.

"I'll see what I can do. Go check on Prime for me."

Special Agent Fowler departed then, stumped as to what he could offer. June left shortly after him, not knowing what to say. Alone in the main chamber, Ratchet sighed. He checked on his inert patient, whispered a prayer, then left to find the Prime.

"Oh, Primus. What do we do now?"

=s=

Optimus Prime sat on his berth not bothering to hold back the diluted bluish tears that streamed down his face. What he had seen in there shook him more than he cared to admit. He had endured war, aeons of it. War. War crimes. The near-extinction of his kind. The darkening of Cybertron itself. He had seen much in his function, but this was something new. Something other. It was all nearly inconceivable.

How did one deal with a disability? With lacking an essential part of oneself? How did one survive? How did a being that had gone from finding his own golden age, suddenly plummet into wishing...death? The Prime blinked rapidly, trying in futility to clear his optics. His voice cracked when he heard a knock upon his door.

"Come."

Ratchet took in the appearance of his Prime. Usually so strong, so unbreakable, the medic almost cursed right then. The crack in the armour had formed. He could see it in the Prime's hunched shoulders, the bowed head, the tear-streaked face and flickering of his brilliant blue optics. A low moan emitted from the larger mech. Ratchet was at his side in an instant.

"Optimus..."

"How can I do this? What I saw..."

"I know. We all saw it. I...You don't have to go in again, Optimus. We'll find another way."

"No, Ratchet. There _is_ no other way," the Prime's tone remained steady by sheer will.

"Someone else could go in."

"Who? Who could see that again? I could no more ask you, or any of the others than I could..." Optimus' tone suddenly shot with an unknown fury, only to trail off brokenly.

"I could go in."

"No, Ratchet. We need you on the outside. You are the medic."

"Optimus, I can't let you go in that human's head again! _Not if it breaks you like this!_" Ratchet cried, swinging Optimus' shoulders around to meet him face to face.

"Suggestions then, _Doctor_?" The responding question was nearly ground out between clenched dentals.

"I...I have none." Ratchet sat beside Optimus then, embracing the Prime in a rare gesture of physical contact beyond a handshake. One wept while the other silently prayed and wondered if there were any real alternatives.


	11. Ride the Lightning: Bulkhead

**To Have a Spark  
****Ride the Lightning I: Wreckers**

"_It does me no injury to my neighbour to say there are twenty Gods or no God."  
_-Thomas Jefferson

Bulkhead's engine roared as he took Miko across their favourite dune-bashing run. It was evident though, that Miko's squeals of delight were half-hearted, hollow even. Dune-bashing was a thrilling rush, but it held almost no appeal on this day. Soon enough, Bulkhead slowed to a stop, cresting one of the more massive dunes of desert sand. The conversation started slowly, haltingly, as if one or the other couldn't bring up the will to speak. To face the storm they had both seen, and they knew, had walked right into.

"Sorry, Bulk."

"It's okay, Miko."

"Do you have any answers?"

"Answers to what?"

"All of this. What are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Miko. This isn't something Cybertronians had to face."

"Lucky."

"Maybe. It's...a shock, really."

"How?"

"Cybertronians aren't sparked with defects. At all. The most I've seen is war wounds or careless mistakes in construction."

"Do Cybertronians commit suicide?"

"No."

"Do Cybertronians really die?"

"Yes."

"Is there...an after-life?"

"You could call it that. We return to Primus."

"The All-Spark?"

"Yeah. You could go see it yourself, actually. It's down a well on Cybertron – The Well of All Sparks."

"So you have a god?"

"Our Creator, Primus. ...What's a god?"

"All-powerful, everlasting, perfection in living form. Can do a lot of things us humans can't. Some say gods can't die; the one thing gods can't do."

"Primus created us. Created Cybertron. Fought off Unicron with the original Primes."

"I think that counts as a god."

"Do humans have gods?"

"I don't know, Bulk. I can't walk to some place on Earth and show you. Some say yes, some say no. Some say only one. Others say more than one."

"You don't know?"

"No one does. Not for sure."

"Do you believe in them?"

"Kind of. I'm Buddhist."

"What's a Buddhist?"

"I'll explain it sometime."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	12. Ride the Lightning: Bumblebee

**To Have a Spark  
****Ride the Lightning II: Scouts**

"_Rivers, ponds, lakes and streams – they all have different names, but they all contain water. Just as religions do – they all contain truths."  
_-Muhammed Ali

Rafael and Bumblebee rode in silence for over an hour. As the sun began to set, the scout turned around to begin escorting his human partner home. It wasn't easy, this silence. It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't the trusting silence between friends that could speak where no words reach. It was an ominous silence, the sort one could cut with a knife were it a solid thing. The first to break this silence was the Autobot scout.

_Raf? Do you feel all right?_

"Kind of... Not really."

_Me too. You want to talk?_

"I guess so. I don't know how to face this."

_What do you mean?_

"Well, I don't know if you have religion on Cybertron, but here, we do. I was taught that people who did that to themselves end up going to hell."

_Hell?_

"It's a bad place. Padre says it's a place where you hurt forever. Burn forever, in fire and demons eat at you."

_What's a Padre? Who sends you to this place?_

"Well, my family believes in God. One God. And this God had a son. The son was born on Earth, got killed, and rose from the dead to atone for the sins of mankind. And if you believe that, and do what God tells you to, you won't go to hell"

_That...doesn't make much sense._

"How, Bee?"

_What happens to humans who don't believe? And..._ Bumblebee hesitated, unsure of how to put his second question. Cybertronians had definitive proof of their Creator, but it didn't require mere belief. Cybertronians lived as honourably as they could...and that was that. Raf offered a thin smile, silently permitting 'Bee to continue.

_What's the point of a sacrifice if humans do their own deeds?_

In other words, what was the scapegoat's purpose, if not to remove responsibility of one's actions? Raf remained silent for a while. His family was more staunch in their beliefs than he was – forever curious and scientifically-minded that he had become.

"Padre says people who don't believe go to hell, regardless of how good they are."

_That doesn't sound like an All-Spark I would like to offer worship to._

Raf nodded. He thought about it and, if he was honest with himself, he knew that logically, he wouldn't either. He cleared his throat to continue.

"As for the sacrifice...It was told like this son did it willingly, to allow humans into the good place. Heaven."

_Shouldn't deeds and words merit that?_

"Yeah. The son taught that you should be good to people around you, even your enemies."

_That is agreeable._

"Yeah. What's the All-Spark, Bee?"

_It's...energy, really. Pure, life-giving energy, older than Cybertron itself._

"Older than...?"

_Primus? They say it is. I don't think so. Primus is the very entity that made Cybertron and gave all Cybertronians life. He lives in the core of our planet, like Unicron lives here inside Earth._

"So, Primus is your God...and the All-Spark is the God's energy?"

_You could put it like that._

"Do you have a hell?"

_No, we don't. All Cybertronians go to be One with the All-Spark if...when...we die. I've heard stories of 'Bots being cleaned or cleansed somehow before becoming One though._

"Like a punishment of bad things done?"

_Maybe. I don't know though. Do you think the human who hurt itself will...?_

"I don't know, 'Bee. Realistically, no one does. Not on Earth. But I believe we can save him."

_Save him from himself?_

"Yeah. I don't think anyone needs to believe like I do. We're all different."

_That's why you're an Autobot...even if you are human._

"Heh. Thanks, Bee."

_How will belief in any of our Primuses help the human we have taken in?_ Bumblebee rounded a corner and slowed to a stop. He parked near enough to Rafael's house so the boy could get in safely and swiftly, but far enough away to avoid suspicion.

"I don't know, Bee. Maybe a spark of faith can ignite his will to keep going. It doesn't have to be faith in God or Primus or his many Gods. It could be as simple as faith that his sworn brother is still alive in some form or another."


	13. Ride the Lightning: Arcee

**To Have a Spark  
****Ride the Lightning III: Warriors**

"_Suicide is man's way of telling God – 'You can't fire me. I quit!'."  
_-Bill Maher

"Arcee, are you okay?"

The two-wheeler had been silent for the majority of their ride. It almost didn't matter that this was how she was on patrol, except that this silence was somehow different. Heavier. She spoke after a moment of collecting her thoughts.

"Jack, do you remember when we first met?"

"Yeah. You saved my neck from Decepticons before I knew what those were."

"Do you remember how I acted? How I said things, did things?"

Jack blushed under his helmet. "Well...yeah. You were pretty cold, Arcee. That was when you...lost Cliffjumper. It's understandable."

"Exactly. But you didn't see how I was initially."

"You mean..." Jack hesitated. "Right after he was..."

"Yeah. I couldn't handle it, Jack. Optimus almost confined me to stay with Ratchet."

Jack digested that as they made a final round on their run. He remembered the cold, even aloof femme he had first met. Her words had been few; her tone had been absolutely frosty. It was as if she held everything and everyone at arm's length. Yet now, on this day, here she was. Stronger. Tougher. A little cool, but the frosty aloofness had all but vanished. Warmed perhaps, by the presence of a companion. Jack didn't delude himself in this – he wasn't replacing Cliffjumper or Tailgate. No one person could replace another, naturally. Yet here he was, friends with this Autobot and she, confiding in him. Trusting in him.

"You think having someone to listen might help?"

"Maybe, Jack. It'll never stop hurting, but no one should go down that road alone. It's pretty nice when you've got someone to help you heal."

Silence fell over then again as they turned back toward base. Arcee remembered her conversation with the Prime, and her mind latched onto the one idea that had been faced. She could scrap a Decepticon for killing her partners. She could destroy a gun. She could extinguish an enemy spark with her own two servos. She couldn't do that to a microbe, a disease, a virus. To her, you could not fight what you could not see.

She examined the memories carefully, probing at wounds that were old but felt new. She saw Tailgate torn apart. She witnessed Cliffjumper's very dead chassis moving, making noise, attacking like a zombie. An abomination that had been released, granted peace. A small part of her wondered if death could actually be a kind of peace. Her instinct shuddered away from such a thing – survival was intrinsic to all living beings. Wasn't it?

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you stick around after the way I talked to you?"

Now it was the human's turn to figuratively sit back and think. He replied a few minutes later with an explanation that was perhaps, poorly executed, but understood.

"You'd never met me. Why would you be mad at someone you never met? Someone that had never done anything to you? I...wanted to know, and then you told me about Cliffjumper. And eventually, Tailgate. You weren't angry at me. I had to learn that, even if it was through the hard way. You were mad at death. At yourself. At the Decepticons. And, maybe I thought that I could help."

"You did, Jack. You did."


	14. Ride the Lightning: Ratchet

**To Have a Spark  
****Ride the Lightning IV: Physician, Heal Thyself**

"_The art of healing comes from nature, not the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind."  
_-Paracelsus

Ratchet sat reading yet another document on human behaviour. The documents had ranged from religious anthropology, to how various cultures handled groups that didn't fit their norms. He'd never admit it, but the medic was astonished at the sheer diversity of it all. For a species so comparatively young to his own, Humanity showed both great promise and great evil. He had begun on the idea of religion. Of the idea that no one knew for sure what was there. Who guided the species, if anyone at all?

It was a sea of beautiful ideas that danced with horrific edicts. He studied Christianity, with its Dark Ages, Crusades, Burning Times. People like Jim Jones, Heaven's Gate, the Ku Klux Klan. Such horrors boggled his mind and more than once, he wondered if there was any redeeming quality in this way. He soon found it.

He found it in a woman named Princess Diana. In men and women who perished in the cold, saving the lives of children from a sinking vessel in the cold North Atlantic. He found it in poor villages in deserts and jungles dancing, sharing what little they had. He found it in scientists who worked tirelessly to cure an insidious disease called cancer, and in the love a pair of old men found in one another. He watched these two gentlemen in black tuxedoes share a kiss as a priest smiled and said "Finally. After sixty-one years of waiting, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom."

Moments later, as the newly-weds exited the room, Ratchet watched three more couples say their vows. Two young women who had been together since middle school. A middle-aged man and his now-wife, who had found one another only five years prior.

Ratchet moved on to Islam. To Judaism. To Hinduism, Buddhism, Paganism, Luciferianism, Rastafarianism, Thelema and countless others. He had found similar veins in all of them – Evils committed in the names of the one or ones they had prayed to. Planes flew into buildings. Temples were burned to the ground. People kidnapped, girls and women sold like property. And yet, like before, he had found wonderful things. Lives saved during a tsunami. Children reunited with parents. Lovers finding each other, starting their lives together or renewing a promise made decades ago.

From there, the medic had moved on to cultures at large, and the sciences. He watched and read of breakthroughs, discoveries and near-misses.

"_Doctor, we've finally done it. We can cure HIV. This patient has absolutely no trace of the virus left!"_

"_Nurse, do we have a report on the patient in Ward Three?"_

"_Yes. She has made a full recovery."_

"_Are you sure? Let me see that." _Ratchet observed the white-haired man's eyes widen in shock._ "Nurse Mendoza...This is remarkable! Get this to the chem labs immediately!" The younger woman – the Nurse Mendoza – raced down a long hallway and through a narrow door. From inside the room, cheers echoed faintly._

Medicine had progressed immensely in some fields. In others however, things took more time. Ratchet moved to medicine of the mind, of that one organ that even humans hadn't begun to fully master. Documents told of many suicides – slow, progressive reactions against an individual's environment, rash actions that were labelled as "permanent solutions to temporary setbacks". Even accidents, freaks of science that were one in a million, or some human making a tragic, terrible mistake.

It was a complicated matter, all of this. In some, medicines had proven effective. In others, a combination of factors were employed. Sadly, in others still, no one could reach them.

Soon, Ratchet raised an eye-ridge on the odd idea that a currently controversial substance could be utilised. The brave few who had tried this, he read, had reports of overall success. This substance had soon gone under further research, expanding its use in the field. More and more reports emerged on this substance, and he had to admit, the stuff had promise. There were few, if any, side effects. Its dosage could be easily controlled. He filed this away for a later possibility.

It wasn't the best option. It was surely not the worst, either.

Ratchet kept reading.

Behind him, the one they called William began to stir. Ratchet glanced down at his patient and took a calculated risk. He wasn't supposed to waken yet. Not yet, not until Team Prime had a battle plan. Not until they could figure out how to directly face the things they had seen. The medic stepped away from his reading and, assured he was alone, fetched the tools.

He engaged the cortical psychic patch on himself with no small amount of trepidation.

=s=

_This inner world was much the way Prime had seen it. A desolate wasteland with disturbing things, mirror-shards hanging about with no cords from which to suspend them. The Cybertronian took what could be called a breath and tiptoed through these lands. He peered warily at mirrors he passed by. They disturbed him on some level – a few more than others._

_Words drifted into his audials.  
_"_You can't expect me to teach a cripple."  
_"_What do you suggest we do?"  
_"_Send him to Lakehaven."  
__A scoff. "You do know that's the place its own faculty nicknamed Pennhurst, right?"  
_"_And?"  
__Silence._

_They were followed immediately by images.  
__A classroom of children stood up. With their hands over their hearts, they almost sounded robotic as they recited something they learned from memory. All except a few, who refused to stand up, who refused to drone out the words._

"_I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."_

"_William. Cecilia. Andrew. Malala. Why didn't you say the pledge?"_

_Malala and William answered first. "We do not believe in acts of worship toward anything except to whom we worship."_

_Andrew answered next. "I'm an atheist. That's a piece of cloth."_

_Cecilia was the final voice. "Why do we do this? We can't yet vote, serve in the military. And history shows that no nation is perfect, much less this one. Loyalty is earned. Not given."_

_Classmates sneered._

"_Muslim terrorist. Can't expect anything less from a towel-head!"_

"_There's only one God and your idols aren't it! You're all going to Hell and you deserve it! Heretics!"_

"_Atheist? Only commies are atheists!"_

"_You're un-American!"_

_Ratchet moved on, screwing up his face plates in disgust. He turned a little to the right and walked on. He walked for what felt like miles as mirror-shards passed by him, dangling in nowhere and containing only Primus knew what. The medic almost-smiled at a few that he dared to peer into._

"_Renault,  
__Come meet me at the dojo. I've been allowed to give you something.  
__-Leonard"_

"_Len, why do you spell my name like that?"  
_"_Haven't you ever seen 'Casablanca'? Or 'Twin Peaks'?"  
_"_No...Why?"  
_"_There are characters in those movies with that name. And you remind me a little of 'Casablanca's Renault."  
_"_Should I take that as an insult?"  
_"_No, bro. Come on. I want to give you a little something."_

_This Leonard person...Ratchet found himself liking him as he progressed. After a while, the medic noted that the ground began to change. Bits of grass, little clumps of flowers began to appear. It wasn't long before the barren waste gave way to a stretch of greenery, surrounding a magnificent stone statue of this Leonard fellow. Yet even here, the decay had begun to take hold. The stone was once a blinding, pristine white, he could tell that. But what he saw was the white marred by a yellowish-gray film. The stone was beginning to decay in front of him._

Ratchet awoke stifling a yelp. Considering what he had observed, the medic frowned as he sat up and put the equipment away. This wasn't easy and it seemed to grow harder as time went on. Ratchet gave his sleeping patient a microscopic little 'extra something' to keep him at rest for now, to keep him quiet until...

_Until what?_

The thought invaded his helm like a thief in the night.

_Until we can...heal him._

_Physician, heal thyself._

Ratchet pretended to read through optics blurred by tears he didn't allow to fall.


	15. One Sword, At Least

**To Have a Spark  
****One Sword, At Least**

"_The minstrel fell, but the foe-man's chains  
__Could not bring this proud soul under  
__The harp he loved never sang again  
__For he tore its chords asunder."  
_-Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros; _The Minstrel Boy_

"...and the human misspelled his name. It was all there, Optimus. This Leonard was something else. I almost can't blame this sparkling for the depth of his pain," Ratchet told the tale of what he saw and heard to his Prime. Was it wrong to have gone in? No one voiced or answered the question upon hearing the medic's words.

Although everyone was present within Omega One, the Prime looked ready to dismiss them all, at least to other parts of the base. Optimus Prime had a steely look about him on this day. Fowler stood uneasily shifting from one foot to another. It wasn't long before Prime spoke up – the decisions made here and now would impact what was to come. The Cybertronian's penetrating gaze met the eyes and optics of his entire team.

"I should send all of you out of this room. What is to come is likely to be disturbing, and I do not wish to expose anyone unnecessarily." No one had to speculate on the Prime's voice, and the curious tremor that slid beneath usually smooth, controlled tones.

"We're not going anywhere, Prime. Someone's got to have your back," Fowler replied. Right then, he spoke for everyone here. No one backed down.

"Do you understand what I must do?"

The question hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity.

=s=

_An hour before..._

"_Optimus Prime, are you thinking clearly?!" June Darby almost shouted at the mech towering above her. She found the idea to be ludicrous. Absolutely crazy, and how many doctor-patient boundaries was he to cross? How many Autobot rules was he about to shatter in the process? She wasn't alone._

"_You're almost sounding like a Decepticon," Arcee had both hands on her hip actuators._

"_Ah, Boss Bot...can you even pull this off? Without hurting yourself, or making things worse for this kid?" Fowler leafed through the manilla folder that contained everything that was William Renalt Haakon III._

_Optimus heard them all. He listened to them all, and when he finally spoke up, there was a solemnity in his tone that none had heard before._

"_Autobots, this is not easy. It...is painful, extremely so. However, I cannot stand by and watch this human's slow decay into nothing. I did so once before, when Cybertron had gone dark. Many were lost... It is not something I decided on a whim. I spoke with every one of you – your perspectives were what gave me this idea to go on. Bulkhead, what is a being without a purpose? Arcee, what is a fight without an enemy to go against? Bumblebee...What is standing up, if one must stand alone? I will not ask any of you to remain present if you have no wish to. I will not ask you to agree with me when you may not wish to. But, I must ask that you allow me to try this."_

"_Won't it hurt?" Rafael whispered._

"_How long can you go before you're forced to tell him the truth?" Jack asked._

"_Can you handle telling him the truth?" Miko wondered._

_The Prime lowered his head to face each of them in turn._

"_Yes, I have no doubt there will be pain. A wound must be lanced before it can heal. And he will know the truth. When he does, he will not be alone, as all of you are not alone. So, I ask you. May I try this?"_

_None denied him, yet none were at ease._

=s=

"Do you understand what I must do?"

The others surrounded the Prime in silent affirmation. They weren't going anywhere, though each Autobot held their respective charges in a protective grip. Bumblebee held Rafael against his chest plate, Rafael holding tightly to a finger. Bulkhead and Miko were much the same way. Arcee and Jack stood side by side. She couldn't hold him like the others, but she and Jack kept constant contact. One or the other made sure skin-to-metal contact was maintained. Fowler and June didn't care that they held hands once the agent relinquished the manilla folder to Ratchet.

"Ratchet, if this escalates, I must insist that you get everyone out of the main chamber."

"No, Boss Bot. We're not – "

"Yes. Yes you are. I will be fine. Our patient will be fine."

"But Optimus..."

"Miko. Listen to me. I trust all of you. Now you must trust me. Please."

Silence answered him. Optimus Prime had rarely asked anything of them; the few times he did had been in the heat of battle, when a decision had to be made in the blink of an eye. In the split of a moment, when that split of a moment was all the time he had. It was almost always tactical, practical or both. Now, it was different. What he asked of them was different. The magnitude was no less. If anything, it was the greatest, heaviest thing the Prime had asked of his team.

Those around him stood in place. They were prepared to give what the Prime had to ask of them. Looking down at them from his great height, Optimus Prime offered one of his rare almost-smiles. He had faith in them, and it wasn't misplaced. And he knew, they had faith in him.

His battle-mask clipped into place. He moved to lie upon the Cybertronian sized berth next to William.


	16. A Line in the Steel

**To Have a Spark  
****A Line in the Steel**

"_Brotherhood is the very price and condition of man's survival."  
_-Carlos P. Romulo

_Optimus Prime stood like a man ready for battle as his surroundings coalesced. They were bleak as before, with their shattered mirrors hanging from nothing. Thunder rolled in the murky sky above him, yet there was no wind to howl. The Prime suppressed a shudder as he began walking across the parched landscape. With his battle-mask in place, he had no worry of anyone seeing the deep frown creasing his face plates.  
__He walked the way Ratchet had gone, tracing the steps and seeing the memories for himself. For such a titan, the Prime seemed to take feather-light steps with ease. What only he knew, however, was that such care was hardly an easy thing to maintain. He was not of the size one could expect to exhibit grace or a delicate touch. Yet such a grace was necessary now as the Prime traversed this landscape filled with almost nothing but the want of death._

_"William. William? I am here."_

_Optimus whispered half to himself as he came upon the once-glorious statue. The greenery around it was already half dead. The white of the effigy was by now a dull gray and fine cracks had formed across its surface. A metallic hand reached tentatively forward. One of his fingers came into contact with the stone edifice, metal grazing the rock with a touch so light that Optimus almost was not sure he was touching it at all._

_Star-bright optics shone, then shed the tears they held without shame. The Prime dropped to his knees._

_"Forgive me, Leonard Iscalia, for what I must do. I fear for his life. Primus, let this be right."_

_In the moments it took him to utter his words, the statue before him crumbled, turning to dust at his knees. Affright, the Prime looked on in silence, fearing now even to ex-vent. He sat like that, frozen in place for an interminable time until a voice broke him out of the trance._

_"Are you Death?"_

_Optics blinked. Standing beside the dust-pile that was once an homage to Leonard Rhys Iscalia, was a short bean-pole of a boy. Not emaciated, no, but thin nonetheless. Almost wiry, one could say. The dark-skinned boy wore a simple white garment that looked like a hybridised kimono and hakama ensemble. Yet it wasn't pure white. It was torn, tattered and stained in only Primus knows what. His feet were bare against the ground._

_Finally, the Prime spoke, finding a certainty in his voice that he didn't know he could project._

_"I am not that. I am here to bring you out of your own self-destruction."_

_The human below scoffed, glaring. "If you are not Death, who are you?"_

_The sky above opened up then, letting down a steady misting of cold rain. The ground at first seemed to refuse it, as if it wished to remain a dry husk beneath the feet and knees of those who rested upon it. The greenery around the former stone relic withered in front of Prime's face. Prime's voice broke amid his own answer, conviction warring against the cold, hard truth._

_"I...I am Leonard."_

_Optimus Prime's only answer was to watch the one before him shake his head and turn away. He began to walk without hesitation. He walked boldly away from the Prime, not caring where he went. He cared not what he ran into, or what he avoided. William Renalt Haakon walked from the cold mist into a harder rain, into the edge of a storm that had begun.  
__The Autobot stood, following the human easily enough. His careful steps were, to a human, more like great distance-eating strides that none but a being of the Prime's size could match. He said nothing as sounds passed him by, words sung through tears, or howled in the recesses where no one heard._

_There's so many different worlds, so many different suns  
__We have just one world, but we live in different ones..._

_Where did I go wrong?_

_The storm grew. Above him, the sky roiled like a black brew that had no cauldron to contain it. Rain pelted down more insistently, and here, a wind did pick up. A wind did howl, screaming across the landscape as if it was furious with the human residing here. As if it wished to sweep William away and into oblivion._

_William welcomed it. He wished it should whisk him off, that the water should flood and drown him. That the cold should freeze him solid. He didn't care to think of the voice that had spoken not moments before – a figment of imagination. A last vestige of the instinct to survive. He dismissed it, almost relishing the storm around him as it intensified. The wind howled, screaming unspoken words. Words he knew without them needing to be said. So he spoke back, hearing the words he knew so well._

_"You broke the Oath."_

_"I know. I'm coming...I'll redeem it."_

_"You promised."_

_"So did you."_

_"And you failed me."_

_"Not again. I'm coming. Do you believe me?"_

_"No."_

_Optimus Prime bent his head down as the storm grew in its ferocity. Rain began to blend with hail and ice as he heard the wind. Not surprisingly, the Prime heard voices in the wind, and to them, he listened. His size afforded an advantage in some ways. In others, his height was a near burden, forcing him to get closer to the ground. Right now, the Prime had his mind on the voices. And the words took a clamp to his spark. The Prime froze again, biting his tongue. As the words died away, he watched the boy proceed onward, toward the heart of the storm. It was a black, murky thing that held neither substance nor emptiness. It surrounded itself in this hellish storm; an eye of silence within a cloak of chaos. It beckoned to the boy, promising in its silence, a reunion that would likely never happen here. It was seductive in this silence. And it was dangerous. Releasing a great, howling roar, Optimus Prime knew then what he was looking at. Knew what then, he faced, and he roared out his fury against it. Peds thundered forward, sending the Prime into a dive. Arms extended outward to create a barrier between William and the blackness._

_"You broke the Oath," the blackness whispered. It was cloaked in the howling wind, echoing like a scream against a hurricane._

_"I...I am here to fulfil it," William walked on, not knowing what lay in front of him._

_"You cannot be trusted," came the blackness._

_"I am here."_

_"Then fulfil it. And be reunited."_

_"No!"_

_The Prime's roar couldn't be disregarded. It rose above the howling wind and seemed to shatter the oppressing silence the wind contained. Metallic arms closed in, blocking William into the loop. It didn't take long for the human to run into one of the Prime's arms.  
__Immediately, human hands trailed, examined the barrier that was now in front of him. William grew frantic as he soon realised that whatever this was, it surrounded him. He hated being in confined spaces, hated it with a visceral passion. He clawed at it, tried to find a place he could climb over it. And he found nothing of the sort. Only smooth painted metal greeted him._

_"I will not allow you to – "_

_"Shut up! You aren't him!" William screamed back at the deep voice that greeted him, that sounded too close to the metallic barrier to be a coincidence._

_"Yes I am! Now listen to me!"_

_"I. Said. Shut. UP!" It was pointless to move now, as the Prime allowed William to beat against his arms, to howl out his pain. Slowly, the Prime's arms closed in until only one move was required to have the human in his grasp._

_"I shall not allow you to throw yourself away on an uncertainty!" Optimus growled back. He disregarded the haphazard kick to his battle-mask as he lowered his face down. Practically lying flat on his front, the Prime felt the awkwardness of this pose, but kept it up. It was only one move to hold onto the human. And it was only one move the human could make to slip away._

_"Who are you?!"_

_"I told you. I am Leonard!"_

_"Bullshit!"_

_"Let me prove it to you, then!"_

_"I promised..." William's voice broke. And with it, the storm raged all the harder. The Prime made his move; one massive hand swept the human up. Both hands came together then, holding the human against a strong, warm chassis. With his quarry safe, the Prime stood and faced the storm and its brother, the silence._

_"I know you did. Fulfil it in another way, William Renalt Haakon. Let me show you..."_

_"You're not him. He doesn't say my name that way. Who are you?!" William screamed again, pounding against the Prime's chassis._

_"I swear to Primus, I am he! Please, let me prove it!" The wind and water screamed around them. Prime planted his peds and bent in such a way that suggested he could withstand this sort of onslaught for centuries to come if he needed to._

_Optimus let the human give vent to the demons, giving vent himself. The Prime glared at the darkness, at the wind, at the rain. His nemesis, Megatron, may be adept in the gladiatorial pits, but Prime. Prime was adept at another kind of battle._

_Death is the mighty Uniter, the defeat that comes to every fighter.._

_"I can't do this any more..." His battering of Prime's chassis died away, leaving him trying to cling against it._

_"I know, I know. I am here. You are not alone. Let me prove to you that I speak truth!"_

_"I don't know how..."_

_"Awaken. Please. Let me purge you of this foulness! Let me prove to you."_

_"I can't."_

_"Yes you can! Who is it that saw you fit for your Animals?!" Optimus moaned inwardly. Exploiting the human's own memories to further this charade turned him inside-out. Yet it was necessary. Prime swallowed his own pride._

_"Len..."_

_"Yes. It is I, I give my word!" The storm engulfed them, trying to devour both human and Cybertronian in its furious oblivion. Prime curled his fingers around William and stood firm. He roared in righteous ire against it all._

_"I can't.. What can I do?"_

_"Awaken! Please. With me. You will not be alone!"_

_Tears. Weeping. William added his own roaring cry to the Prime's._

_"Awaken! Now!"_


	17. Voice of a Titan

**To Have a Spark  
****Voice of the Titan**

"_Mae'r holl ffyrdd yn arwain yn ôl i yma."  
__("All roads lead back to here.")_

They watched it unfold in front of them. None of them were within William's head as the Prime was, but they saw everything through a monitor Ratchet had programmed to respond accordingly to a patch, and thus reveal what went on. None of them were prepared for what slowly unfolded. Even Ratchet, who had taken a few steps into this troubled mind didn't expect what now lay before him. The medic kept his optics glued to his patients – the others could focus on the monitors well enough without him seeing everything.

"We're unravelling that?" Miko shuddered as she saw the stone relic disintegrate at the Prime's touch. Or was it his words? Part of her couldn't tell.

"Even stone has its breaking point," Raf pointed out. He sat in Bumblebee's hands, almost wanting to crawl right into the scout's chassis. But he looked on anyway.

The others found themselves silent as the storm began. Some turned away as the rain came down in torrents. They all could nearly predict what the Prime would say, and they loved him for it. They loved him for his words, his ways. It was why they followed him, why they looked up to him so, but more than one of them wondered if Optimus Prime really did have a breaking point. A part of them never wanted to find out where that threshold lay.

"_Noooo!"_

None of them could help turning their heads away at the savage sound that tore itself from the Prime's voice. The three humans clung to their guardians as, one by one, they realised that the Prime's visceral roar was not only released within that nightmarish world of William Haakon's head, but echoed through Omega One.

Bumblebee, Arcee and Bulkhead backed away immediately. They watched with wide optics as the Prime began to thrash and roll on his berth. Ratchet leapt into action, pinning the Prime as well as he could to prevent an unsafe detachment, or a fall.

"Get the humans out of here!" The medic barked the order and without question, it was heeded.

Transforming, the Autobots took their humans, sans the adults, to a deeper, quieter wing of the base. June Darby and Agent Fowler clung to the railing of the catwalk above. It was a silent agreement that they wouldn't tell the children, or their guardians, what they then witnessed below.

Ratchet's arms wrapped around the Prime as the larger mech's body tried to curl in, as if he really did hold the human he was trying to save in his grasp. No one saw the tense grimace Optimus wore beneath his battle-mask. All three of them saw the diluted blue tears that streamed from optics tightly closed. The medic whispered into Prime's audial receptor; one hand absently stroking his helm. It was a paternal act, one that almost surely signified Ratchet's age as older than Optimus himself. It was a small act that told of a deep familial bond, one that stretched into the aeons before the War.  
When it seemed the Prime had stilled, Ratchet released him, standing straight. His own optics welled up, but he refused to acknowledge it. He had a cortical psychic patch to monitor, and ensure that both came out of it in one piece. The Prime lay still now, but his voice was no longer merely spoken within William's dark world.

"_Yes I am! Now listen to me!"_

It sounded strange, to hear Optimus Prime speak twice, his own voice echoing from both himself and within the patch. It was an almost one-sided dialogue that burned itself into the memories of the three who remained within Omega One's main chamber.

Down the halls, the Autobots and their charges listened to the echoes that came their way, catching half-lines and parts of words. Adventurous as Miko was, even she held back, weeping silently against Bulkhead's chassis.

"_I told you..."_

A voice so mighty it could sway half of a planet, the bright half of a war, scaled from roaring fury to a gentled, desperate tone in a matter of nanoseconds. It was this voice that belonged to the Prime, and his only weapon against the thing everything fought against.

"_Please... ...Yes you can!"_

He was a being that lived an already long life, an extraordinary one. A titan who walked among men, all too ready to lay down his existence for another in the span of a sparkbeat. He was once a humble data clerk, a librarian at least and an historical archivist at most. He was the Prime, the beacon of his species. Yet he too, was mortal despite how long he had already lived, or how many times he had played poker against Death and won. He never cheated. He was simply lucky. Lucky, or very wise. Lucky, or someone the universe couldn't do without.

"_Yes! Yes, it is I! I give my word!"_

The Prime thrashed again, turning to lie flat on his back. His battle-mask clipped open, his voice roared out a command that could not help but be obeyed. The Prime gave this command with everything he had in him.

"_Please. With me."_

Three seconds.

"_You will not be alone."_

Two seconds.

"_Awaken!"_

One second.

"_Now!"_

Ratchet jumped back a little. Optimus Prime sat up with a start. Both servos came to his face, rubbing down in a slow yet ferocious move. He felt very, very old at that moment, yet it passed quickly as the patch ended. He barely felt Ratchet detach the cord. Optics flickered to the human occupying the bed beside his own and he was rewarded with dark eyelids fluttering open. The Prime managed to smile, forgetting that this human couldn't see him.

"Len..?" The whisper was uncertain, laced with the remnants of both the patch and an induced slumber that would wear off in but a short time.

"I am here," The Prime didn't choose to stand up right then. Rather, he carefully lowered himself down to the floor, coming to sit on his knees beside the human. Optimus didn't touch him yet, instead watching in silence as Ratchet put the patch tools away. June and Agent Fowler came down to the ground floor, themselves shaking a little from what they had been witness to. They came to flank William on his other side; June already in nurse-mode. Her examination was quick, efficient and involved little in the way of touching, much to William's relief.

"Do you know where you are?" June had that professional tone in her voice. The Prime sat quietly, watching the two humans. He wondered privately how they would break it to their patient, how they would tell him too many things that would deem an ordinary man insane.

"I'm...I'm not on that cliff, am I?" William's voice was a smooth tenor, made a little strange by the accent in his speech. It was a queer blend of British English lightened by Asian and Hawaiian influences. Strange indeed, but one could expect no less from a teenager who lived the life of an army brat in a melting pot of a nation.

"No, you're not. Someone saw you."

"Len? Where's Len?"

June Darby hesitated then. This part of the plan wasn't hers. It wasn't Fowler's and it wasn't Ratchet's. This lay securely in the hands of Optimus Prime. As such, the Cybertronian's voice came out again; a whispering thunder of a sound. It was a sound neither June, nor Fowler ever thought a titan such as he could produce.

"I am here. Right here."

William sat himself up with a touch of assistance from the Prime. It was a curious feeling, the touch of a metallic finger against his back. Part of him tensed warily; he'd had frighteningly realistic dreams at times. The finger was joined by another, then a third and a fourth. William's brow furrowed. Since when could anyone sit against a metal hand?

"Is this a joke...?"

"No, William Renalt Haakon."

"Primes don't joke," Fowler almost muttered. William noted the third voice and whipped his head around, as if trying to seek it out.

"Who are you? What's this thing against me?" He couldn't help the faint note of panic.

"William. Please, calm yourself. It is I, Leonard," Optimus' voice dropped yet another level; any lower and he'd be whispering. If one of his size could actually whisper.

"Why are you mispronouncing my name again?"

"Is William Renalt Haakon not your name?"

"You're - "

Prime cut him off, not about to hear another word of denial. "Shall I lift you?"

"What are you - " William yelped, his words cut off not by a reply this time, but by the sensation of indeed, being lifted. His legs dangled over the edge of what felt like for all the world like a hand. An enormous hand, whose index finger half-wrapped around him and whose smallest two fingers he now sat upon.

"Now. Will you listen to me?" the Prime's whisper was gone, replaced by a stern tone that brooked no contest. It was the sort of tone that, as Fowler heard it and reflected, could not be disobeyed by anyone. William fell silent then, caught somewhere between confusion, a little fear, and awe at what he felt and heard around him.

The Prime began again, holding the human up in front of his face.

"I am Leonard, as I have told you many times now. I will explain in due time why I am...how I am. What happens now, is that you must take a new oath. One more binding than the last. This will require two rules from you: One, that you do as I ask you. And two, that you please, trust me."

At that, it was discovered that Miko was no longer the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, to directly confront the Prime.

"Just who are you? Leonard, we were once equals. Sworn brothers that'd go out back to back. You were the one that promised – " William's sharp words cut off yet again. Optimus Prime's voice issued a low rumble, one that surely noted displeasure. At this moment, Optimus Prime was not in a mood to be contested. To him, he had a life to save, and that meant setting a mind on straight.

"Silence!"

A full minute of quiet passed before he spoke again.

"The rules have changed. Events have arisen that required this change. I know your loyalty is unshakable. Unshakable to the point of near-foolishness! The rules have changed. Are you willing to accept these changes? Are you willing to renew the vow?"

"What...what have you turned into? Len, why am I in a crane?" William trembled a little; hands cautiously investigating the hand that held him.

"That is my hand, William."

"Your...hand? But that's not possible."

"It is, William. Be still. I am going to sit down with you," Optimus took a softer tone again. Although he was already seated upon the floor, his hand lowered, coming to rest on a knee as he moved to take a cross-legged pose.  
Fowler spoke up then. He was going by the seat of his pants and he knew it, but being an Agent as he was, the man performed admirably.

"Look, son. There have been changes... Leonard did get dengue fever, and yes, before you ask, he was reported dead. What you've got now is...him. He's here, but not in human flesh and blood. He's been...reborn."

"Do you not believe in the concept of reincarnation? Resurrection?" Prime almost-whispered a few words, hoping to avoid the pitfall of a long silence that signalled uncertainty.

"I...yes," William's hesitant response was better than nothing. His mind slowly shuffled off the cobwebs of induced sleep and the purging of what he'd poisoned himself with. The poison hadn't failed; it had been removed from him. That much was easily deduced. Yet more questions arose from that one answer.

"Do you understand what has transpired?"

"No. No one knew I was up there..."

"I did. I saw you commit a foolish act. I could not allow it."

"You were dead...are dead..." He felt one of the metallic fingers touch his face, as if to rub away a tear.

"I am right here."

"What...What colour are your eyes?"

It was an ordinary question on the surface. William would never understand colour beyond mere words. He never could comprehend the concept of colour except through the words which described nothing to him. Yet one word, one colour-designation had meaning to him. He felt the giant hand lift him again. His own hands extended, reaching out. It wasn't a common act amongst the blind – it was an act trained out at childhood, taught as impolite. Taught as uncouth, as invasive. William forgot such lessons for this moment. Leonard was clearly not human. He was massive, metallic. So what had become of him? The urge to find out easily overwhelmed trained behaviour.

As his hands met a smooth, yet very metallic, face, William heard the answer. He found before him something – someone – utterly alien to what he knew. Someone easily described as Titan, or Nephilim, yet robotic? Mechanical? His right hand went further up, to the scar-like lines etched below this being's optics.

Optimus almost-smiled in his subdued way as he allowed the human hands to explore his face. It felt...strange to have this done to him. It drove home the idea that sight wasn't an option here. He didn't blink as the hands found his faint etchings below the optics.

Ratchet hid his own emotion behind a re-calibration of his medical screens. Fowler and June stepped back, quiet observers once more. The others of Team Prime crept into the main chamber's doorway, unnoticed.

"They are blue."


	18. Hand of a Titan

**To Have a Spark  
****Hand of the Titan**

"_A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles."_  
-Christopher Reeve

"_They are blue."_

The words resonated softly from the Prime's voice, yet at those words, the human in his hand froze. Useless eyes narrowed, distrust practically coming off of him like a scent. Optimus drew back, remaining in his seated posture. The silence that fell upon the base was such that, were it a tangible thing, one could have cut it with a dull knife.  
Finally, they could take this silence no more. It was, perhaps predictably, Miko that spoke up.

"You bro's eyes were blue, right?"

This time, William – Renalt, he preferred – didn't try to seek out the voice. He just nodded silently, taking a breath in hopes that his mind might start acting logically. It wasn't possible, that he was sitting in a giant metallic hand belonging to a mechanical titan who bore Leonard's name. Leonard was dead. Leonard was dead, yet complete strangers knew his eye colour as well as he knew his own hearing capacity. Renalt lifted his hands again, investigating the hand that held him.

"What has changed...?"

"Patience, William," Optimus rumbled softly. Once more, he allowed questing hands to explore his face.

"Call me Renalt.. Like you used to."

"Very well, Renalt...Renault. I will speak of the changes soon. The hour grows late. Will you remain here with us?"

"Us?" An echo of curiosity threaded through Renalt's voice then, thwarting any of his own attempts to keep curiosity out of himself.

"I will explain tomorrow. Please. Sleep now," Optimus actually did whisper then. The sound was as strangely haunting as the others might have imagined it to be. Nudging the human with a finger, the Prime didn't need much in the power of persuasion to have Renalt do as he asked. The sound that came from the Prime's voice at that point was one none would soon forget – it was a soothing sound, found somewhere only in the deepest reaches of oneself. It was like breathing, yet circular, melodic. It was, in a word, beautiful, and it was to this sound that William Renalt Haakon fell asleep to.

=s=

"Optimus, how long are you going to keep this up?"

The other children had long since gone home to their own beds. Now, only Fowler and the Autobots remained in the base, and Fowler was the one who broke the question. He stood on the catwalks staring at the Prime who sat on a berth below him. The face the Agent was met with was one he didn't wish to see the Prime wear again – it spoke of age, of long and weary aeons fighting against impossible odds. It was a face that spoke of a being who had regrets, who made decisions he detested himself for. When the Prime finally spoke, his voice reflected the same world-weariness his expression bore.

"As long as I need to, Agent Fowler. I cannot watch a being destroy itself if I can prevent it."

"And when are you going to break it to him? How are you going to break it to him, that you're lying through your mechanical teeth?" Fowler retorted. He didn't like this plan of the Prime's – personally he would have felt better if they had simply shipped the kid off to another asylum. When his answer was only silence, Fowler stalked out to the elevator. His last words had a warning in them.

"If you can't get this kid's head on straight soon, I'll have to step in, Prime. I'll step in and keep him away from you."

The elevator echoed on its way up, carrying Fowler with it. There was no mistaking the accusation in the Agent's words. Right now, he didn't trust Optimus Prime of Cybertron with a single human mind, much less an intergalactic war. Or the remnants thereof. Arcee, Bulkhead, Ratchet and Bumblebee were momentarily lost, conflicted in their own thoughts. Behind them, Renalt slept the sleep of the exhausted. Ratchet briefly fancied that he could sleep through a sizeable earthquake with ease.

"Maybe Fowler's right, Optimus," Arcee first ventured.

"What, that Prime can't be trusted?" Bulkhead whispered harshly.

"No...the kid...I mean that maybe he'd be better off in human care," the femme replied.

"To what end, Arcee? Those human sadists at that...that...Lakehaven?" Ratchet ground out through clenched dentae.

"...No, Ratchet. I wouldn't subject even 'Cons to that."

Bumblebee finally spoke up, chirring and beeping softly. _Can we let him choose? We can't hide from him here and he didn't hide from us._

"He didn't have much of a choice, Bumblebee. We...We _invaded his mind_, that's what we did," the medic responded in a broken tone, one laden with guilt.

_Did we have a choice?_

That was the question, wasn't it? Did any of them have a choice? The question mocked them all. All night, the Autobots sat together, conferring, debating, deciding. They held a human in their hands. One wrong move could destroy him more perfectly than any Decepticon could dream of. One right move and they'd have a fourth human residing in Omega One. A human that couldn't see. A human that was, in all likelihood, a walking liability.

As dawn broke, Optimus Prime had his mind made up. He would bear it all – the responsibility, the possibilities, the risks. He was the Prime. It was what he was supposed to do. What he _wanted_ to do. He stood, readying for morning patrol when his optics fell upon his hands. His hands. How much energon had spilled in these hands? How many lives had these hands saved? The Prime could destroy an organic with a mere flick of his hands – he had to always be so very careful. He stared at his hands and wondered what these hands would do now.


	19. A Prime and His Way

**To Have a Spark  
****A Prime and His Way**

"_Do not regret what you have done."_  
-Miyamoto Musashi; _The Book of Five Rings_

Renalt had slept a dreamless sleep; the first in several months. It was the kind of sleep he preferred, over the nightmare-ridden things he used to call nights in the past year. He likened it to his own brief shard of oblivion, the quiet nothings over the harsh realities of the world around him. He woke, wishing he hadn't woken up at all. He wanted that oblivion again, but he knew it wasn't to come. Not while he was here, wherever 'here' was.

He wouldn't even think of the strange dreams he'd had the night before either. They were disturbing things, with characters his own imagination couldn't begin to come up with. Giant robots, horrific storms that were somehow plausible weather conditions and utterly insane impossibilities out of Alice's Wonderland.

None of it made sense. '_What did, any more?_' he reflected.

The dark-skinned human sat up, noting his immediate condition first. He felt fine, a little hungry. His bed wasn't a medical gurney. Rather, it seemed to be a slab of...something. Metal, plastic and something not quite soft, yet not rigid either. And whatever this was, it was huge. Renalt crawled, exploring what he'd been lying on during sleep. It was a bed, to be sure, but... He shook his head. No human needed something of this size.

Creeping to an edge, Renalt took a breath and slid over the edge. The drop was a bit harrowing – making Renalt that much more thankful that he had learned how to take a fall, how to take a roll correctly. Once down on the floor, the boy used what navigation techniques he knew to discern where he was. In all honesty, the whole place smelled more like an auto shop than it did a hospital ward. _And you should know, shouldn't you?_ A little voice sneered in the back of his head. He ignored it, found a wall and pressed on. Trailing was the best option when a cane wasn't present, so Renalt took to it. The room he circled was, frankly, enormous. Sparse, but enormous. It had what was apparently a bed, and something that was either a desk or a shelf. Yet it was all to proportions that spat in the face of logic.

He found the door to this room open and ventured beyond its boundaries.

Renalt's bare feet made almost no sound against the concrete floor as he proceeded down the passage he found himself in. It didn't have the acoustics of a typical room, but those that denoted a hallway or corridor.

It wasn't long before voices began to filter through the air. He listened, trailing closer. It was nearly an instinct to first go toward a sound than away from it and it wasn't long at all before the corridor opened out into a room more massive than the apparent bedroom had been. Voices greeted him, along with another sound. It was a sound like no other, yet completely ordinary. Footsteps. Unlike human footsteps though, these thundered as they landed. Sounds like that only came from truly titanic feet. Yet again, Renalt couldn't think of any logic behind it all. So he listened.

"...responsibility is my own, Ratchet. I made the decision and I must follow through with it," a voice echoed. It sounded hollow, like it came through a communications device. The one apparently called "Ratchet" answered, none too happily.

"And what about my duty as a medic, Optimus? How many lines are you going to cross? If we fail here, you heard Agent Fowler!"

Silence.

"I thought so. If you won't come clean, I will. We're Autobots, for Primus' sake."

The communications device clicked, shutting off as Renalt deduced. He took a few breaths, finding them a little shaky. Who wouldn't be nervous, hearing the sound of footsteps large enough to essentially squash someone? Renalt screwed up his courage and squared off from the wall. He was in no-man's-land now – cane-less, and now, without a wall to guide him. The words he'd heard drifted through his mind. Renalt decided to take his exploration a step further.

"Who's Ratchet?" His voice echoed a little, giving him a vague idea of the size of this room.

"I am Ratchet. Who – Oh, it's you. You're awake," the medic responded in a friendly, if detached, manner. He turned from his work station and walked toward the human. Close enough, the Autobot went down on a knee. Ratchet noted the little "-isms", observing the human before him. The youth didn't seek anything out by sight, naturally. Yet there were little quirks – he didn't even turn his head to face who he spoke to. His hands fidgeted a little, as if he expected that he should be holding something.

"What are you moving in? Is that a...?"

"Machine? No. I'm not a machine and I'm not human either."

"Don't pull my leg, Sightie. Just because I can't see doesn't mean I'm an idiot," Renalt rolled his eyes. He didn't like being patronised. "Above" him, Ratchet ground his dentae, calming a usual come-back filled with snark. He had to remember...this wasn't the same encounter with Jack, Miko and Rafael.

"I'm not pulling anyone's leg. And why would you try to insult my optics? Now, what can I do to prove that I am not trying to play a joke on you?"

"I hope you're not patronising me."

"Why would I? You are an intelligent life-form."

"I think you've been on the sci-fi a little hard, Bro," Renalt shook his head. He liked science fiction as much as any nerdy fan, but this was beginning to sound ridiculous.

"I won't dignify that with a response. I will ask again...Renalt, is it?...How will you accept that I'm telling you the truth? I am not human – not even organic, Primus forbid."

"I don't know. If your eyes didn't work, what would you do?"

The question took Ratchet by surprise. Neatly as a frigate "crossing the T", the medic found himself unable to answer a reasonable question. For a moment, the two remained in silence, unsure of what to make of the other. That moment ended when Ratchet gave a huff and his left hand swept up Renalt like a doll. Renalt squirmed at first, utterly at a loss. He settled down upon feeling a finger wrap securely around him.

"...What are you, if not a prop?"

"I am an Autobot."

Renalt's expression became nearly deadpan. "You're not messing with me, are you?"

"I'm not 'messing with' anyone. Now, you'll be coming with me so I can perform a diagnostic on you. After that stupid move you pulled..."

Renalt's expression hardened. "I have a right to - "

"Do what? Throw away your existence? I'm a medic. I _save_ lives, not end them. Just what were you thinking up there, anyway?" Ratchet's low growl cut him off. He didn't let Renalt go when he reached his work station. Rather, the medic scanned the human, handling his equipment one tool at a time.

"I made an oath."

"Yes, you did. And he's here, so you don't need to go through with that outlandish oath of yours."

"Did you do that to him? Turn him into...whatever it was?"

"No, I didn't. I'm not even from this dirt-ball of a planet, thank you very much," Ratchet's finger squeezed gently, discouraging any squirming.

"So who did? What is he? What are you?"

Ratchet was silent until he was satisfied with the results of his scan. Mumbling in the way only a physician could – some things were universal after all, weren't they? – the Autobot finally decided to give the human in his hand an answer. An answer. He didn't answer everything.

"I, human, am from a distant planet called Cybertron. My associates are from the same – Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead...and others. Yes, I am very much alive and no, I'm not a machine. I'm a sentient robotic life-form who had to watch his entire planet go dark during a war."

Renalt digested that, whispering half to himself. "You're an alien. So. We're not alone after all...Leonard was right. I owe him a drink..."

"Hm?"

"Leonard...and I. We once made a bet whether or not we were alone. Whether aliens existed."

"Heh. No, you're not alone."

"So...What's this Cybertron like? Why are you metallic?" Renalt found his curiosity engaging him again, warring fiercely with the suicidal shadow in his mind that reminded him 'Leonard isn't here'. The question's hidden face wasn't missed on Ratchet. Cracking a faint smile, the medic decided against releasing Renalt just yet.

"It was...beautiful. I could speak all cycle of it. The cities shone like little stars that decorated Cybertron's surface. The whole planet thrummed with the heartbeat of Primus himself. If you listened, you could hear the ground sing with each pedfall...er...footstep." Ratchet frowned. "But...it isn't that way now, Renalt. It doesn't sing any more. The ground doesn't pulse with life."

"Why not?"

"Cybertron is dark, Renalt. It went dark ages ago...war took it. War took its heartbeat. Its spark."

Renalt was silent at that, trying to imagine the idea of an entire planet – which meant a myriad of species, of cultures, centuries, perhaps millennia of history – dead. Gone. The thought was shadowed over soon enough, bringing a seemingly unrelated question out of nowhere.

"Why did you take Len's name?"

Ratchet froze. Letting out a low vent, equivalent to a deep sigh, the medic brought his hand up to face-level. Renalt may not be able to see him, but it was the principle of the thing. The dignity of facing who you spoke to, whether or not they could see you in return.

"This is not easy to answer. However, I wasn't the one who told you what you heard. My leader, Optimus Prime, did so. He feared for your existence...We all saw you up there, on our cliff...next to Cliffjumper's memorial. Someone had already been buried up there..."

"What right - " Renalt began, finding an unusual fury in the core of himself. Yet again, he was cut off, not by a rumbling command, but by a fingertip against his chin.

"Ep-yep-yep. Please, just listen. I...I don't think I could repeat what I have to explain to you. Now. I've already told you that yes, I'm an alien. So is Optimus, my leader, and every other Autobot you'll encounter within this base. Our planet is dead from...aeons of civil war. We are what's left of that war. Cybertronians naturally live quite the long time compared to you humans, but there are things even we don't understand. We face one of those things now, with you here. You humans have such short life spans...Why would you want to end it? What is so painful that you can no longer face it? And what in the All-Spark makes you think you are alone? I'm a medic, Renalt. I'm supposed to be able to answer these questions. I'm supposed to preserve life, not end it. Loss is never easy or painless. We know this as well as you do. So why, William Renalt Haakon, is your judgement so clouded that you do not see ahead?"

"I don't take oaths lightly. I don't take...anything lightly," the youth began. Reverently, a hand moved up to his face, a finger stroking the gold earring in his right ear. "Len was all I had after Dad died. After Lakehaven... He was the only able-body that didn't seem afraid, or...repulsed. He wasn't irrationally afraid that if I touched him, somehow he'd go blind. He wasn't an idiot either; he knew how I thought. Why I am the way I am. And then he went off to Asia. And then he died." Tears, unwelcome as they were, fell in earnest.

"You lost your world as we lost our world. I don't expect you to not be angry with us, Renalt. But do you understand? None of us could let you do that to yourself. You were extinguishing your own spark," Ratchet put down another tool he'd intended on using and brought his other hand up, effectively cupping Renalt in his gentle grasp.

"Len _was_ my spark. Why did you...What did you do to me?"

"We cleansed you of that...poison you infected yourself with."

"The dreams..."

Ratchet's voice broke. "Those were not dreams. Did you meet giant metallic beings in your head?"

"So that was..."

"Yes. Both Optimus and...and I. We believed we had no other choice. Time wasn't on our side, Renalt, and we wanted to save your life. We couldn't ask you...so we attempted to find out."

Renalt fell silent. He let the tears fall, let Ratchet observe him. He let the medic watch as the human began to shake with the enormity of it all. Someone had actually been inside his head, knew his memories. His deepest feelings, his fears, his shortcomings. All of it. For a moment, he wondered if this was what it was like to kneel at the feet of the gods he worshipped so fervently.

"Do the gods find favour or disapproval?" The question was, much like any he'd asked before, a loaded one. It was filled with layers of meaning, some of them lost on the medic.

"We are not gods, Renalt. Just Cybertronians who want to help you. We see potential in every human we've encountered."

"Every life has the capacity for change," Optimus Prime's deep voice rumbled through the base. Somehow, his voice overpowered the sound of his own transformation, startling Ratchet. The medic glared helplessly up at his leader. Yes, he had let the secret out, only somehow the medic didn't think Renalt so dull as to not have figured it out himself.

The Prime came to stand in front of his medic and take a knee, that he might be more at eye-level with the weeping human in Ratchet's hands.

"Transformation is vital to survival, Renalt. I feared for your life. I still do."

"You took his name."

"Yes..."

"You were in my head."

"Yes."

"Do you do that to everyone?"

"No. You are unusual, the first for us."

"You took the choice away."

"Yes. And no. You were not compelled to do as I asked."

"You were in my head. You took his name."

"I can deny nothing, Renalt. I am not ashamed to admit that I wished to save your life. I am...ashamed of the method used to do it. I felt there was no other alternative," the Prime's voice remained steady, yet held a note of contrition. The others quietly surrounded their Prime in mute support.

"You lied to me." The accusation resounded clear through the base without the need to scream. It resounded in the silence with the force of a storm and the sound of a whisper.


	20. A Prime and His Words

**To Have a Spark  
****A Prime and His Words**

"_Everybody needs four things in life: Something to do, someone to love, something to believe in and something to hope for."_  
-Darren Hardy

"You lied to me."

Optimus Prime didn't flinch at the accusation. He simply bent his head down, acknowledging that yes, he did. Yes, he tried to take on Leonard Iscalia's name, hoping against all that, using that name, he could save one human life from a permanent mistake. Yet somewhere, in the dark recesses of his own processor, the Prime wondered for the first time...had he been wrong? How wrong was it, to save a life no matter the measures taken? How far indeed, did the line of freedom extend?

"Yes. I did. With the hope that you might at least hear me, and clear your mind."

Ratchet flattened his hands in silent response to the Prime's gesture – his own hands held out, asking if he might take hold of the human. Neither 'Bot however, made a move to persuade Renalt one way or the other. They merely observed, and opened up options. From behind them, the others spoke up. Renalt sat a little straighter.

"I know what it's like to lose someone that close to you," Arcee whispered.

"Wreckers have to do things most don't call ethical," Bulkhead added.

Bumblebee gave a low, buzzing chirp. He didn't know exactly what to say, so he offered silent support.

"Did you ever...?" Renalt moved, claiming a strange position on the borders between Ratchet's and the Prime's flattened hands. He was angry, confused...and it hurt. It was a hurt he wasn't sure he could explain. A hand absently trailed about one of Prime's fingertips.

"No," came the chorused reply, though Arcee's voice held back.

"I almost did. I did stupid things in battle, hoping I could take down the enemy," the femme confessed. She moved closer, extending a hand. A finger gave Renalt the slightest of nudges, letting him know which voice belonged to her.

"What made you change your mind?"

Arcee smiled. "These 'Bots, actually. They gave me something to hold onto."

"You're not handicapped, are you?" Renalt cautiously investigated the thin, sleek finger nudging him.

"No. Bumblebee's the closest we have to that."

"What happened to him?"

"He was...wounded in battle. He cannot speak as the rest of us do," Ratchet supplied.

"Well, hello anyway, if you're here."

Bumblebee beeped back.

"I do not take pride in what I believe I had to do, Renalt. And I do not begrudge you your anger. I do however, ask that you understand what we have tried to do. What we will still try to do. It caused us immeasurable pain, to learn of this idea. This idea that a being could want his life to end. It troubles all of us," Optimus spoke bluntly, unable to quell the stuttering he felt in his own spark upon thinking of it all.

"What do you expect me to do? Just 'get over it'?"

"No. That would be impossible. And unrealistic."

Renalt waited, either unable or unwilling to speak, he couldn't tell.

"What do you do to calm yourself, Renalt?" Ratchet volunteered.

"Don't you already know that? You were in my head after all," Renalt couldn't help the sarcastic reply.

"We do not. We feared going in as it was. We wished to be careful," the Prime added.

"So you didn't mess with me?"

"We did not. That is a taboo even I am unwilling to commit. We only wish to help you heal, Renalt. The pain within you is great. It may not vanish entirely, but we wish to help you deal with it. Without resorting to...dark alternatives such as the one you sought."

"You're not getting into my head again, are you?"

"Not without your express word, Renalt."

"Does...Does it work both ways?"

Optimus nodded to his team, a faint smile upon his face. Another idea had formed, but this one might not go over so badly. The Autobots around him stared in shock as the Prime offered his words. Some of them knew what the patch felt like. None of them had willingly offered before. They found themselves unable to form words as the thought came to be.

"Will you permit me to take you into mine?"

"What for?"

"To offer proof to you, that I mean you no harm. And, as a gesture of trust. I know you have none. I wish to offer that back to you."

Renalt slid over fully onto Prime's hands; his own wandering between the two mechs. He noted the differences in their hands – Ratchet's hands: with blunt, capable fingers and solid palms virtually unmarked by battle. And the Prime's hands: somehow softer, more pliable than the medic's, pitted with scars. Their hands could crush him with a single twitch or squeeze. These hands told him stories without words. Renalt took everything that had been said to him, and examined it as he examined their hands.

He had been lied to. Yet the poison that he had taken, intending to end his own life, was purged. Here he sat, in the presence of actual aliens, ones too innocent to understand suicide. Yet ones whose innocence had been corrupted by war. Now, as they had touched his mind, they placed their own in his small, human hands. He could enter another being's mind – why he thought of Spock at this point, Renalt didn't entirely know – he could ask them to open themselves up, as he had been opened up for all to see.  
Yet he wanted back what was taken. Was it a selfish thing? There was no way to know, except to ask.

"Why would you do that?"

"As I explained, Renalt. I wish to make amends. I wish to see your trust repaired, and earned back. To see you heal from this pain of yours. I do not know of many other ways to show this," the Prime said patiently. His patience was nearly limitless, and now, it was more than patience. It was, he hoped, a lifeline.

"Why do you hesitate? Do you fear us?" Ratchet wondered.

"I... I do."

"Will you accept our offer? We truly mean you no harm," Optimus' tone was what one might imagine he'd take to a frightened child.

Renalt hesitated at first. One side of him sought reparation. The other sought only peace. It was a matter of ethics, a matter of trust, a matter of healing. He knew that, were this a happier time, he'd likely be in proper awe, blown away by being in the mere presence of aliens. Were Leonard still alive, Renalt thought back, they'd be welcomed with open arms. Talks of culture, of history, where they came from, food, religion, language... It would all be talked over with laughter and goodwill. But this wasn't a happy situation. Leonard wasn't here.  
_Could it become happy? Could it become a great cultural exchange, healed of any pain, and founded in mutual trust? Could a dream of Leonard's own, become real?_

Renalt could not refuse the potential. It was a leap of not faith, but hope.

"I'll...I'll do it."


	21. Forbidden Cities

**To Have a Spark  
****Forbidden Cities**

"_Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."_  
-Abraham Lincoln

"I'll...I'll do it."

Although he showed little reaction on the outside, the Prime fairly wailed with joy in his own mind. Renalt never saw the Prime take a tear from his own optic, nor did he witness Ratchet place it upon a slide. It was a gesture to be completed later, a thing saved for a time when the Prime was alone and with his own secret thoughts.

Renalt did note the gentle curling of the Prime's fingers. He did note the touch of Prime's other hand; two fingers coming to rest on a shoulder with the most feather-light of touches.

"I will not fail you, Renalt. I am going to put you down now, on the berth beside mine."

Any move Renalt could feel, the Prime described. He voiced it all, taking his movements slowly and smoothly. Although Renalt momentarily felt like he was being handled like a small animal, he did appreciate the spoken warnings – with them, he moved or remained still accordingly. When the Prime had deposited him onto a clearly Bot-sized berth, the teenager couldn't help but explore a little, learning the size of what he now found himself upon.

"They're huge..." The thought slipped out before he could hold it back. Above him, Ratchet stifled a chuckle.

"To you? Yes, we are, but we have learned to...watch our step," the medic replied. "Now, I'll need you to lie back and let me put this on your head, all right?"

"It...won't hurt, will it?"

"No, Renalt. It is based off of a human helmet in design. You see, the procedure we are about to undergo was intended for us. On the backs of our helms...heads...there is a small port. It is through this, that a cable is connected, thus opening the way for what we call a cortical psychic patch," Optimus supplied.

"It won't hurt you, will it?"

"It will not. If one of us was to actively fight against it, then yes, pain would be present. Are you certain you wish to consent?"

"If it won't hurt..." Renalt's reply was a little hesitant – pain on either end wasn't pleasant.

"It will not. Simply relax. I will guide you," Optimus smiled even if Renalt couldn't see it.

Renalt took a deep breath and held still as Ratchet lowered the device onto the human's head. It did feel a bit like a helmet, like one that didn't quite fit. Like it was a little large, giving him room to freely turn his head about if he so decided.

"There we go. Now lie back, Renalt. Lie back and just breathe," Ratchet directed.

This was it. There was no turning back now. Renalt did as he was instructed, though he couldn't stop the flutter of insecurity in his gut. This was something only science fiction had touched on – and barely, at that. He breathed, holding onto the meditation lessons the dojo had taught him before its untimely shut-down.

He could do this. He listened to the 'Bots' fading exchange as a semi-familiar heaviness came over him. Renalt likened it to the half-asleep, half-awake state deep meditation could put one into.

"Your turn, Optimus. You know the way. There, now you lie down too. That's it. Are you ready?"

The Prime nodded.

"Cortical psychic patch in three, two, one."

=s=

_He felt a rush. It was not of wind, but of something else, as if something had compelled him to be here with such force, Renalt wondered briefly if this was what the hands of the gods felt like. Renalt's bare feet touched a warm, metallic surface and Ratchet's words came back to beautifully haunt him. The words echoed in his own thoughts, then out into this world as if he had spoken them aloud._

_The ground of Cybertron really did sing._

"_Yes. It did," the Prime's voice sounded from somewhere above yet beside him. The mech knelt and offered an upturned hand. A finger brushed the human, letting him know he was close, very close. _

_Renalt climbed into Optimus' hand and immediately noted some stark differences. The hand beneath him felt a little smaller. Narrower. The metal – flesh? – was unblemished by the scars of battle. His hand, all in all, felt younger somehow. Younger, cleaner, smoother. Reflecting on the differences, Renalt spoke in an almost idle fashion._

"_Scholar's hands."_

"_Hm?"_

"_You have a scholar's hands."_

"_I suppose you could say that. I was a clerk before I was a Prime," the Prime slowly stood; the movement holding a grace only scholars could master. It was a different kind of grace, one separate from that of a veteran warrior. His gait was the same: Smooth, steady and it almost felt as if the Prime did not walk at all._

"_A clerk? As in a librarian?" Renalt sounded almost incredulous._

"_Yes. My workplace was called the Iacon Hall of Records. Come. I will show it to you."_

_The Prime described everything to him. He spoke of the things Renalt would never be able to appreciate through sight. He described the brilliant golden sunsets, the blazing of sunrises so red one might mistake them for the skies being bathed in human blood. He spoke of Iacon's domed splendour and the city's gleaming spires. He walked, carrying Renalt through the Iacon Halls without shame. This was how he knew and remembered his beloved Cybertron. This was what he had fought so long, so hard for. However, as long-lived, as wise as Cybertronians could be, they could also reach unfathomable depths of cruelty._

_It was such cruelty, such darkness, that the Prime tried to steer the human away from. He didn't wish Renalt to hear the ugliness that had come to shadow the Prime's back. It wasn't something he could avoid._

"_Iacon... It sounds glorious. Makes me want to pull out my chisels again."_

"_Chisels? You are an artisan?"_

"_I'm not too great with realistics, so it's debatable."_

"_Are you not a martial arts student?"_

"_Well, yes. The style I was learning required aptitude in several areas – not just hand-to-hand combat. I began learning herbal medicines..."_

"_And toxins," the near-interruption was not a question._

"_And toxins. Len was teaching me ninjutsu."_

"_That explains your knowledge of how to harm yourself so."_

_Renalt lowered his head and sighed. Yes, he did learn more than natural medicine. He learned, or had begun to learn, the darker side of ninjutsu – the poisoning side. The assassin's side. The side shinobi had become famous (or infamous) for. The Prime fell silent and turned down another direction in the halls of his own mind._

_They left Iacon entirely._

_The ground began to sing another song. It was a darker song, speaking of sadness, of loss, of misunderstanding. Of tyranny and oppression. Renalt could almost hear the shimmering spires twist and warp into something many would call ugly and he listened to the Prime reluctantly speak of this new place. This place that held a dark beauty was marred, corrupted from a freedom-fighting city into one in the grasp of a maddening tyrant.  
__It was here that he heard sounds from Optimus Prime that he'd never wish to hear again._

"_Nooo!"_

"_...What was that?" A twinge of uneasiness slithered its way down Renalt's back._

"_This...is Kaon. The city of regrets. Listen..."_

_Renalt listened. He heard the Prime howl in grief. He heard the shuddering sound of Cybertronians' lives ending here and he smelled something familiar. Something wretched, something that held the sick, sweet odour of decay. The distant sounds of combat, gladiatorial and militant, echoed around them._

"_Elita!" Somewhere in the distance, a vestige of Optimus Prime fell to his knees. Renalt heard the great titan drag a body into his arms. He heard the Prime wail and from above, he felt a wet drop fall onto his shoulder. Renalt paled as he turned his head up._

"_I have been widowed for many centuries by now."_

"_What's going on here...?" the teenager wondered. He failed to stop a few tears from falling, learning that the Prime too, had a pain similar to his own._

"_War, Renalt. You learned that I was an archivist. A librarian," the Prime lifted the hand holding Renalt up to face-level._

"_Yeah."_

"_Our governance was corrupted in the high places. Some were treated more civilly than others. We had a caste system in place, one that no Cybertronian could rise within. The Prime of that age was Prime in name only, for our Golden Age had ended when I was still young. He allowed this to continue, ignoring those of lower castes. Until one, a gladiator, finally spoke against it. I agreed with him in the beginning. We fought for a mutual cause – Liberation and fair treatment of all Cybertronians. His chosen name was Megatronus, after one of our original Thirteen Primes. These Thirteen had been directly created by our own life-giver, called Primus."_

"_A god?"_

"_Ours, yes. I will tell you more of him later on, if you desire. What you hear now, is the city Megatronus had been sparked in. Born in. He and I together petitioned our ruling council for an audience, to speak on our ideas for a fairer, more prosperous civilisation."_

"_What happened?" Renalt was ensnared by the tale he was hearing. The dark sounds and smells around him only added to it, somehow making the tale that much sharper, that much more real._

"_That was...That was when Megatronus revealed another side to himself. He shortened his name by the time the council had agreed to hear us. You see, the Prime of this age was, as I said, Prime in name only. A mere figurehead of what he should have been. Megatronus – now Megatron – believed the old guard ought to be removed by force, and that the name of Prime should fall upon him. We...disagreed. Although I did not wish such a title, it fell upon me..." the Prime trailed off, part of him not wishing to speak of his words and deeds at the Council meeting and part of him too humble to 'brag' of it._

_The memory came though, somehow fusing this falling/fallen city into a hall too massive for any human to comprehend. Renalt heard voices. Some were muted, blending into the din of a clearly upset throng. Others were haughty, dripping with arrogance and a sense of elitism that made the human a little sick._

_And then he heard the Prime speak._

"_...honoured Council. To not see all as equals is to spit in Primus' own face. In your own faces, to separate yourselves from Cybertronian brethren. Are we not all from, and destined for, the All-Spark? Then why, I ask, do some receive greatness and others foulness? I cannot stand by and watch fellow Cybertronians suffer so. Were you in such a state, I would still be here, speaking for you. I speak, hoping that you may hear me. We are all children of the same Well. Should we not lift one another, rather than trample them down, walking upon their backs? Do we not always say 'Until all are one'? How can we be truly One, if the castes separate us so?"_

_Optimus Prime said nothing, though he silently wept as Renalt heard these words. Words powerful enough to silence the inhabitants of that hall. Words powerful enough to seed a spiteful severance. He heard Megatron roar in anger as this Council finally spoke. Megatron's fading pedfalls echoed over the words issued from those in the seats of power._

"_Orion Pax. An archivist you may be, but do not return to your books. You, who speak the words a Prime should speak, go not to Iacon. Go now, to our Maker. Go now, and be the Prime you should be."_


	22. Forbidden Cities II: Of Gods and Men

**To Have a Spark  
****Forbidden Cities II: Of Gods and Men**

"_Love recognises no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope."_  
-Maya Angelou (April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014)

"_...Go now, and be the Prime you should be."_

_The Prime walked away from the shadows of Kaon. He took himself and his human visitor back to the peaceful halls he knew so well. Renalt said nothing as the last words from the Council faded away. What could he say to that? What could he say to any of it? Here he was, traversing the very mind, the very idea of Optimus Prime. Here he was, in a place that no one dared to go, yet it was offered him as his own secrets had been traversed. Part of him wished to slough away the idea that his own psyche had been touched without his word, warring fiercely with the reason behind it. It battled ceaselessly, and here Renalt was within the most powerful weapon against the shadow of violation._

"_Have you thoughts, Renalt? Your silence is not silent here," The Prime gently ran a finger down Renalt's back._

"_I don't know what to think. You did this very thing to me, yet here I am...with you. I should be furious with you."_

"_I know. And I accept that fury. Do you accept the reason behind what I have done?"_

"_I don't know. Part of it only drives the fact further home that...that Len is dead. That I'm still here, not at his back where I should be."_

_Optimus frowned and fell silent. He walked on, through his golden city and out again, across a terrain he had been forced to learn during that ancient trek to find Primus. The massive being walked across what were now barren wastelands with a sea that had gone still and dry. Neither said a word through this crossing until the sea, or what was once a sea, gave way to a formidable mountain range._

"_I must place you on my shoulder, Renalt," The Prime lifted his hand, twisting his wrist actuators just so to allow the human to crawl onto the safest little dip in his shoulder._

"_Where...exactly are you taking me?" Renalt couldn't ignore the gentle tipping twist of Optimus' hand, guiding him to the area on his shoulder. Sliding carefully, the human noted a distinct give, a softness that rivalled the Prime's fingers. He crouched, hands trailing to explore what were essentially, thick cables strafed across the massive frame. The thought occurred to him that this was, in essence, bare, exposed muscle._

"_This doesn't hurt you, does it?"_

"_No, Renalt. Now hold on."_

_This wasn't something the Haakon son had expected to do. He sat on exposed cabling, finding one that was raised just a bit, and latched on. Yet he feared holding on too tightly; his sensitive hands noting the feeling of liquid rushing through these cables. Muscle. Blood. Wires. Fuel. His mind briefly debated, silently equating one type of anatomy with another._

_Renalt found himself almost curling in, feeling every movement beneath him. He felt every pull, twist, turn and bend of the Prime's shoulder. By that, the odd feeling of being at an angle, and the sound of his movements, Renalt noted a climb. A steep one. A hard one that smelled of rock, sweat and minor traces of blood that wasn't blood on the Prime's hands. This trek seemed to go one forever, engendering brief wisps of questions that never quite formed – just how high were these mountains? How harsh was the stone beneath? – until at last, they reached the summit._

_The Prime stood still for a moment, letting his charge – his mind didn't correct the word into 'guest' – feel the light wind up here that was neither hot nor cold._

"_We are almost there."_

"_Almost where?" Renalt couldn't help but keep his voice down for some reason. It was the kind of whisper one used in the presence of greatness. Great natural beauty, or after hearing a song that touched the soul as firmly as a forge-master's hammer touched hot metal, forever shaping it._

"_You will find out."_

_The way down was little easier than the way up. Over these mountains, which the Prime briefly called the Manganese Mountains, they went. Alternating between walking, crawling and awkwardly back-shimmying down, the Prime spoke nothing further, even as they touched flat ground again. He carried the boy in silence across another flat expanse, stopping only when the air changed._

_It smelled different here. It felt different, sounded different._

_Optimus carefully sat, crossing his legs and offering a hand to Renalt. The boy left Prime's shoulder, crawling onto the offered hand once he found it. He listened to the air here, finding the acoustics a little strange._

_Before them, a great maw opened up into the earth, one that held no floor._

"_This is the Well of All Sparks. Hold onto me," Optimus' voice was strangely low and even here. To explain further, he extended his hand over the edge. Renalt latched onto a finger._

"_That's..."_

"_I will not drop you. Below you, is the Well of All Sparks, where all Cybertronians come into existence."_

"_Is...is it empty?"_

"_You could call it that. This is where I journeyed to find the Matrix."_

"_How did you get down there?"_

"_I did not jump, if that is what you are thinking. The Well's walls are not glass."_

"_What..." Renalt gulped. He could hear it, he could feel the immeasurable drop below him. "What's down there?"_

"_Not 'what'. 'Who'. Primus lives there, within the very heart of our world."_

_Renalt's eyebrows knitted in thought. "Is that scientifically possible?"_

"_Yes, Renalt. It is. If...if ever the chance comes, I will prove it to you, if you desire."_

_A gust of scentless wind rushed up from the Well. It carried an oddness to it, a heaviness that brought Renalt's mind to the fore and to the past simultaneously. An unexplained anger filled him, compelling the youth to let go of Optimus' finger and stand defiantly on the palm of his hand._

"_So why did you do this? To lecture me on my own will? To play psychiatrist?"_

"_No."_

"_Did you think that I'd somehow 'see the light' and be converted to something?"_

"_Why would I convert any living thing from its current state?"_

"_You took the choice away."_

"_Your mind was clouded. It still is."_

"_And who are you to decide that?"_

"_Do you deny that you were intending to end your existence?"_

"_It's my life!" Renalt shot back. Glaring daggers, the youth turned his back on the Prime, ready to leap off of the Cybertronian's hand, facing away from the Well of All Sparks. He was ready, tensed to leap until two of the Prime's fingers wrapped around his waist. The grip was gentle enough to not cause pain, but firm enough that Renalt couldn't wriggle free, no matter how hard he tried._

"_And you only have one! One life, Renalt. One existence that is confirmed!"_

_Renalt sneered. "I thought freedom was your precious ideal."_

"_It is, but what is freedom when it is clouded by impaired judgement?"_

"_What do you know of my mind?"_

"_I was there, remember?" Optimus growled back. By now, his hand had lifted, putting himself almost literally nose-to-nose with the human._

"_No one invited you," The words ground out of Renalt's mouth were birthed from pure anger, yet when they were spoken, pain followed. Tears followed. Renalt squirmed, trying to effectively turn his back in the Prime's face._

_Optimus Prime said nothing to that. The titan only brought the human close, holding him now with both hands against his chassis. It was the truth – he hadn't 'been invited'. Yet it was also true that the Prime couldn't handle the concept of a being taking its own life, whatever the reason. His voice became nothing as he sat next to the Well of All Sparks, holding the human. He wept with the human then, and in the silence, Optimus Prime's tears echoed where words had no power to reach. The Autobot leader slid closer to the Well, so that his feet dangled over the edge. He wasn't foolish enough to let himself or the human fall in, but the childlike need to be near Primus was a strong need right then. This was where Optimus Prime wasn't strong, where the mighty Autobot could not stand on his own._

_His tears fell into the great abyss like rain, joining Renalt's own. They fell without a sound of them landing anywhere, like rain evaporating before making landfall._

On the outside, a quiet had taken hold of Omega One, leaving Autobots and human allies without a word to say upon their arrival.

_The silent tears fell for what seemed like hours within this private world. It was a silent slowly broken by the Prime himself. Quiet sobs preceded a low, moaning chant that drifted from English to Cybertronian, to a sound that went beyond music._

"_I'm sorry. Primus, I'm so sorry. Hold on, please hold onto me."_

"_I'm sorry. Bi-frost's shine, I'm sorry. Len, I'm sorry!"_

_It was the invocation of Primus' name in two languages that began the change of this inner world. From within, the Matrix seemed to shiver and tremble. From the Well, a deep, rumbling roar issued forth. Renalt wept unashamedly within the Prime's hands, echoing similar words of contrition. Words that begged mercy, that cried out forgiveness to one that had long since been dead. Below, the ground's solidity came into question. The Prime's own form became a little fuzzy, as if someone had taken a camera effect, blurring his sharp lines of reality._

_What reconstituted around them both was somewhere that seemed outside of time, outside of comprehension. With it, came a strange peace. It was as something building up around them, shaky at first, the foundation unsteady. It solidified slowly, forcing the Prime to set his charge down. Renalt opened his mouth, almost in protest. It was a fear he didn't understand – Renalt feared losing the touch of the Prime's hands. Yet the touch was lost, leaving Renalt seated in a metallic room of some kind._

_A room where Optimus Prime seemed absent._

"_I am here."_

_The voice came from all around him. It resonated throughout this chamber, whatever it was. Above him, Renalt heard a sound he'd never heard before – it was as a heartbeat, but not. It was smoother, had a different rhythm, and seemed to circulate within itself with a touch of what sounded like the crackle of electricity._

"_I am here, Renalt. Hold onto me," the voice sounded again, echoing in soft thunder. A peculiar warmth descended from the heartbeat-like sound above him. Although Renalt found nothing solid to hold onto, he curled into the feeling._

"_I'm lost," he whispered._

"_I am here. Will you let me help you find your way?"_


	23. Seven Thousand Steps

**To Have a Spark  
****Seven Thousand Steps**

"_There is little success where there is little laughter."_  
-Andrew Carnegie

"_Will you let me help you find your way?"_

Renalt woke with the question lingering in his head like an echo that wouldn't fade away. It somehow danced with the whole idea that he'd just taken a walk inside someone else's head. It somehow didn't clash with the idea that here he was, in the presence of truly alien life-forms – titans among men – and here they were, holding Leonard's legacy in their hands. He sat up and immediately reached out. Optimus Prime was a strangeling and something in Renalt wanted to know this strangeling. He wanted to trust this strangeling.

Another voice brought his mind to the fore. Miko approached, standing on Renalt's other side, leaving the Prime and Ratchet the space they desired in order to keep close to the dark-skinned teenager.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Maybe... Was I really inside someone else's head?"

"Yeah, you were, and he was in your head. He saw you up there and kind of freaked out," Miko didn't smile as Jack and Rafael came to join her. Thinking on it, it had been an eerie experience to witness Optimus Prime losing his cool. A being like that, to make him lose his composure...

"So...What happens now?"

"Well, you can stay with us," Jack piped up. Renalt didn't turn toward the sound of his voice but the others knew he was listening.

"Why? I don't even know you."

"You know me, do you not?" The Prime rumbled quietly from somewhere above and beside him, across from the children. Renalt didn't know what to say, so he merely nodded silently. He couldn't deny that he _knew_ this strangeling, this Optimus Prime. He _knew_ the Cybertronian in ways none but him could.

"Hey, um, Optimus?" Rafael made himself known then.

"Yes, Rafael?" Renalt almost smiled – the perpetual gentleness of the Prime's voice was a new, constant surprise.

"Could...Could we do that too? You know...Me with 'Bee, Miko with Bulkhead and Jack with Arcee?"

There was a silence at Rafael's innocent question. He was asking them, asking to know his guardian as Renalt now began to know the Prime. He was asking if the others desired such closeness that it surpassed the most intimate of human touches. Renalt kept his silence, letting his mind roll over all that had happened in the last few days. He let the other boy's question throw itself into his thoughts – such closeness, indeed. Such oneness that Leonard would have jumped at the chance in half a heartbeat – a closeness that bordered on the dangerous. It was a place where weaknesses, flaws, faults and idiosyncrasies wouldn't be hidden. It was a place where lies could never be told. It was a place that made him think again of a mortal upon bended knee before his gods.

Could he handle this? Could the child who now asked for it understand exactly what he was asking for?

"Rafael. Do you know what you are asking?" the Prime asked the question Renalt couldn't bring himself to voice. Between himself and Renalt, a line had been crossed with the best of intentions – boundaries no human had ever known, had been crossed. Breached, and breached again to rebuild – build? – a new kind of trust. It was a line that now lay blurred in front of them, entering into a land Renalt was the first human to be taken into. One he reflected upon, listening to the Prime and the other humans around him.

"I mean, if they want to. I think it'd be...kind of nice to know 'Bee that way."

"To trust Bulk like that..."

"To be that close to Arcee..."

The others pondered the idea, tasting it as they spoke of it. What boundaries did they look at now? What horizons did they think they saw? It wasn't easy to face the idea dancing with the dark things they had all only just faced down.

"Jack, Miko, Rafael. Renalt. I ask you to go to my room for a moment. Take some time to think upon all that you have experienced."

"You're not going anywhere?" Renalt failed to hide the slight tremor in his voice. Only moments ago he had been furious at the concept of someone walking around in his own head, taking away a perceived choice to end his own life. Only moments ago, he had journeyed inside the same mind that had been within his own, learned that he was not alone in more ways than met the eye. And now, here he was, terrified that this titan would somehow vanish like the mists in a dream.

"No, Renalt. I will not. I think it will be beneficial for you to open up to one of your own kind though," the Prime didn't seem perturbed to repeat the assurance in the least. The physical life had been saved; now began the work to rebuild that life, to heal at least some of the pain he saw within.

"C'mon, dude. Let's go," Jack coaxed Renalt off the gurney and offered an arm. With Renalt on his left elbow, Miko on his other side and Raf only a step behind, the four humans left the main chamber of Omega One.

=s=

The four humans sat on the floor in Optimus Prime's room, at first in silence. Renalt knew this room well enough but faced with a trio of strangers, exploring further seemed a bit out of place. After another five minutes of this awkward silence, Miko spoke up. Anything to chase the silence away.

"You really loved him, didn't you?"

"Len was...everything to me," Renalt's reply was somewhere between a whisper and a held-back sob.

"Maybe talking about him will help? What was he like?"

"I...I don't know if I could tell you right now. All I can really say is that he was everything I'm not. Everything I could never be. Everything that held me together."

"Were you lovers?" Jack ventured.

Renalt blushed, though it barely showed on his dark skin. "I loved him, but it wasn't like that. He didn't swing my way, and it was all right. You don't need romance to forge a bond like ours."

"So...where are you from?" Rafael tried. He found himself still in that stage between "Girls have cooties" and discovering his own beginning change into adulthood.

"Everywhere. It's easier to tell you where I've not been," Renalt almost laughed – he hadn't remained in one place for longer than five years at a time. And that was at its best.

"Did you dye your hair?" Miko chimed.

"No, it's my natural hair colour. I'm of Melanesian descent on Mom's side."

"Weird. Cool."

"Weird? No, that's not weird. Giant-ass robots that are alive. That is weird."

"Touché, there. They are the good guys though," Jack added.

"How many are there?"

"Of the 'Bots, or the 'Cons?"

"The what now?"

"Okay, Renalt? There's a war going on. The two sides are the Autobots – that's our guys. Optimus, Ratchet and the others. And then the Decepticons, under Megatron..." Raf began.

"You mean Megatronus? Deep voice that sounds like he's chewing on rocks?"

"Yeah, that guy."

"So, uh...Miko, and...?"

"Jack."

"Rafael. Or Raf, for short."

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..."

"You think we think you're nuts?" Miko supplied.

"Yeah."

"You need help. But you're not nuts. You're hurting, and that's not nuts. It just needs healing," Jack intoned.

"You lost someone too?"

"We all did. Me...it was my dad. Better left unmentioned, as Mom says."

"I almost lost Bulk...he came into base after a mission, hurt bad."

"Same with 'Bee."

"Are you in this war too?" Renalt's tears trickled to a stop as his curiosity again began to show.

"We kind of ran...fell...into it face first. Well, Raf and I did. Miko just kind of nose-dived in. She's the troublemaker in our little trio."

For his trouble, Jack got a punch on his arm. It was strange, so terribly wonderful and strange to sit here in the midst of a room that belonged to a colossal alien comprised of metal. So strange it was, to sit here amid strangers Renalt barely knew and not face ridicule or reactions of irrational fear. He soon found himself asking the questions.

"So...this Optimus Prime runs the show on the good guys' side. Megatronus on the bad guys' side...Are there others of those Decepticons?"

"Well, there's Starscream. Nobody's sure though if he wants Megatron's approval, or his job," Jack said. Rafael pulled out his laptop and played recordings of each Decepticon's voice.

"So, weaselling, power-hungry turncoat with a sycophant's personality?"

"That's about right."

Renalt cleared his throat, tensed his neck a little and produced a nearly spot-on imitation of Starscream. He didn't know why – some devil put his knickers in a twist to do something to at least try and laugh, perhaps.

"What can I do to assist you, Master?"

It wasn't long before all four were howling with laughter as each took their turns impersonating Cybertronians on both sides to the best (and worst) of their ability.


	24. Caduceus Unbound

**To Have a Spark  
****Caduceus Unbound**

"_Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently."_  
-Henry Ford

"What can I do to assist you, Master?" Renalt relaxed his throat with a little sigh after a laughably accurate impersonation of Starscream. He admitted to himself that yes, this Starscream was so far, the most difficult voice to date.

"Oh, man! That was good. Let me try..." Jack controlled his own laughter and stood up straight. It was a Herculean effort to control himself, to put himself into the persona he wished to impersonate. He managed though, and did a fairly spot-on job of imitating Ratchet.

"Bulkhead! I _needed that!_"

Miko and Rafael howled with laughter. Renalt snickered, expressing himself with a little more restraint. It was something to see, each one impersonating an Autobot or Decepticon with as much or as little "artistic liberty" as each one desired.

"Blasphemer! Look what you've done to my paint job!" Miko squealed. She was a little too high pitched to perform Knockout with real accuracy but neither she, nor her companions seemed to care.

"My name is Optimus Prime," Renalt tried. He was too high-pitched to produce the Prime's quiet thunder, but then, no one could truly produce such a voice on his or her own. Stifling snickers, the other three children lifted their heads high and let out a good yell, saying together the command they knew so well.

"Autobots! Roll out!"

"Does he really say that?" Renalt controlled his laughter well enough and, once the others had quieted down sufficiently, posed the question. He had encountered much within the Prime's head but he tried not to be invasive. Consciously or not, Renalt tried to imitate the Prime's infinite gentleness and protective might when the Cybertronian had walked the paths of the human's own mind.

"Yeah, he does," Rafael replied.

"So, this war...it's still going on, isn't it?"

The mood had shifted again, going from revelry to a more serious note. Whether it was Renalt's cloud of grief, or a more reserved personality, none were to be sure yet. The four arranged themselves to sit in a kind of four-person circle.

"Yeah, it is. We've seen our share of the fight. Had a few close calls," Jack said.

"Got some snaps of the guys kicking 'Con tail, too!" Miko chimed in.

"Getting us into trouble in the process," Jack countered.

"Weakling!" Miko shot back.

"And they let you stay here?" Renalt honestly was surprised.

"Yeah, well...Bulkhead kind of put his foot down when Fowler tried to say something," Raf piped in.

"Literally," Miko muttered.

"How did you meet these guys, anyway?"

"Oh, that's..."

"Like I said, we kind of fell head-first into their lives."

"Well...What was it like? I'm guessing you didn't just knock on the door and say 'Wilma, I'm ho-ome!' Did you?" The others tried not to laugh at Renalt's rendition of Fred Flintstone.

"Well, no. We didn't. For Raf and me, it kind of went like this..."

=s=

Ratchet stood outside of the Prime's room, just observing for a while. He admitted only to himself that he had to stifle a laugh at the imitations he'd heard. Many of them were quite good in terms of accuracy while others had been frankly, cartoonishly horrible. Intentionally horrible. The medic smiled and slipped back into the main chamber of the silo. The others waited for him with half-hidden anticipation, minus the Prime himself. Optimus stood in another section of the base closer to the medical bay. His fingers moved around a tiny, quite human-sized object with a creepy kind of grace.

"Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, I've asked you all here because something has been asked and I need you to think on it."

"What's the matter, Doc?" Bulkhead questioned.

"It seems the second cortical psychic patch with this Renalt fellow made some progress. Progress enough that Rafael asked if he, Miko and Jack could do the same with each of you. To know you better, to let you know them better."

None of them knew what to say to that. In silence, each 'Bot toyed the idea around in his or her helm, tasting it, feeling it. Sounding it out in their own processors. Could they let down that many walls? What kind of tactical advantage or risk did this pose? Other arguments battled for supremacy in their minds then. What kind of trust did it take from not only the humans, but from them too? What kind of unity stared them in the face?

The Prime soon joined his companions with the finished product of whatever he'd been working on resting in the palm of his hand.

"I will not deny that it was difficult to reach our new visitor. I cannot deny the pain mutually felt as I experienced his loss, and he later experienced mine. Something passed between us, however, forming a trust I cannot explain."

The others listened, half of them not quite believing what they heard. Optimus Prime knew much about how this universe worked, how Cybertronians worked. He understood things on a level none of them could come close to ordinarily. Except now, here lay an opportunity to do just that – understand other beings as the Prime himself did. Through all this, the contrast was blatant. Optimus Prime spoke of not knowing how to explain the thing that had passed between himself and Renalt Haakon.

Perhaps it was one of those things that none could explain. One of those things better left to the wisdom of Primus.

"Um, Optimus?"

"Yes, Bulkhead?"

"What's that in your servo?"

The Prime did that almost-smile he was almost infamous for. "This, Bulkhead, is a gift for Renalt. He trusted me when he could have easily lashed out. However, I confess, my hands are not usually fit for creating something such as this."

The others peered at the thing shining in his hand. It was a necklace of sorts, glittering silver with an opalescent object affixed to its front. They wondered, they were curious as to what this thing was made of and if it actually did anything, but they didn't ask every question on their minds.

_Does it do anything?_ Bumblebee chirruped.

"Yes, it will. If he accepts it. It will provide a direct signal of his life energy, no matter where he is on this planet. It is also a communication device...of a kind. It will not work under conventional means, nor does it operate in such a way," he replied. There was a strange shine in the Prime's optics, as if he did this in preparation for something he might not be able to prevent.

"Optimus, what are you saying?" came Ratchet's worried voice.

"I told him that I will not leave him. I intend to keep that word."

"Even if Fowler drags him away kicking and screaming?" Arcee put in.

Optimus was silent at that, giving away only a stone-cold expression. Renalt had put a chink in his impenetrable armour. He had put a hole in Renalt's own tattered shield. Both had taken their first steps, repairing and redeeming and healing. He remembered the heated exchange with Ratchet not long ago – Fowler did not trust the Prime any longer, and by proxy, did not trust the Autobots any longer. By legitimate authority, Agent Fowler could easily wrench not only Renalt, but Miko, Rafael and Jack, away from Omega One forever.

It was not a thought he relished. Still, it needed to be in the open. They needed to be aware of it. Optimus felt that unpleasant taste in his mouth again as he spoke. It wasn't easy, it wasn't painless. Optimus Prime however, couldn't predict the future – only act upon and prepare with what he knew. He couldn't predict the future and thus, couldn't predict the reaction his subordinates gave him.

"Autobots... Agent Fowler no longer trusts us. It is possible, because of, or in reaction to, Renalt's presence here and our unusual method to save him from his own demise, that Agent Fowler could separate us from our young charges. Under human law, he will have every right to this. They are not considered legal adults and thus, are not lawfully permitted to make certain decisions for themselves. We must be prepared for the possibility that – "

"He'll take Miko?!"

_Raf will be taken away?_

"Jack..."

"Optimus... We can't... He can't do this," Ratchet felt breathless, or the equivalent thereof. His knee struts shook and for once, the medic sat on one of his own tools, obliterating its usefulness. Around the little organics, he may not admit much from within his cranky shell, but it was a façade and everyone within the base knew it.

"Agent Fowler has done nothing yet. He has said nothing yet. I simply advise us all to be prepared for such an event."

No one asked why Optimus Prime's voice was deeper than usual, producing an unusual sound that reminded them of an oncoming storm.


	25. Broken Hallelujah

**To Have a Spark  
****Broken Hallelujah**

_"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."  
-_George Carlin

"_Prime!"_

Fowler's voice rang out like its own bolt of lightning within Omega One. His tone was sharper than usual, laced with an almost-hatred that wasn't like him. It was out of place, unfit in William Fowler's voice. While it was true the man was blustery, William Fowler was a bit like Ratchet in many ways. Crusty, seemingly harsh on the outside, letting no one in past the military façade. He had let the Autobots in, once upon a time, allowing them to see past that abrasive exterior, allowing them to see that yes, he _did_ give a damn.

Once upon a time, he had given a damn, but those days were past.

Fowler stood on the catwalks and glared daggers down at the Autobots below. Eight days since the second cortical psychic patch and William Renalt Haakon had shown signs of improvement. It was slow, only the beginning steps, but it had begun. Fowler had seen none of it; none but Ratchet, Jack, Miko and Rafael had been allowed to see him other than the Prime. It had roused suspicion against these Cybertronian visitors. He wondered exactly what possible mind tricks the Prime had decided to play on the one everyone else now called Renalt.

Eight days, and William Fowler made up his mind. In his eyes, it was the right thing, the safe thing to do.

"Yes, Agent Fowler?" Optimus Prime appeared as impenetrable as always and for a moment, Fowler wondered if the Autobot knew how to smile, if he knew how to laugh. Or if war had stripped him down to this cold, methodical, manipulative super-soldier he saw before him.

"First of all, I want to know where the kids are," Fowler began without preamble. His face was unreadable, impassive.

"Jack, Miko and Rafael are in their homes, asleep. The hour is, I believe, considered late for them," Optimus replied. So, Fowler was to be like this? He could be equally as unreadable, equally as detached.

"And the other one?"

"His name is Renalt. He is in my room, either asleep or practising his routine."

"Explain," Fowler had no time for ambiguity, no time for cryptic obscurities from the Prime.

"Renalt is a martial arts student. I bade him to practise, to keep training, to keep his skill. His brother gave him the knowledge for that skill and I will not see him lose it. I will not see him lose that strength."

"Get him out here. I don't care if he's asleep. Get him out here," he spat. The command was evident, one the Prime was loathe to heed, but heed it he must. This wasn't Cybertron. This was Earth, and the Prime had agreed to abide by human law. He gave a silent nod to Ratchet, not needing to watch as his medic moved off to disappear down the hall to the Prime's quarters.

"Agent Fowler, what is this about?"

"I'll ask the questions, Prime."

Optimus Prime appeared impassive still, as if not a thing in this world could stun him, but Fowler didn't and couldn't see him on the inside. _I'll ask the questions_. Optimus stood a little straighter. His optics shone a little brighter. His face became a little more expressionless. When the other Autobots turned around, reacting to the sound of a visceral roar from down the hall, Optimus Prime stood firm. He didn't seem to notice the sound, didn't seem to hear it at all. He didn't put words to that sound, that howl that spoke of a creature wounded beyond endurance and he didn't put words to the stone-cold face Fowler wore. The human settled a baleful gaze onto the Prime as if he could command the great titan to let loose all of his secrets. As if that look could compel the Prime to take off his armour and lay himself bare to Fowler's whim.

"The kid's leaving here, Prime. I'm taking him to a proper facility. To real doctors. I won't have you toying with this kid any more."

"Optimus Prime 'toys with' no one," Ratchet's voice cut through the tirade in a guttural whisper he managed through a lump that had lodged itself into his Cybertronian throat. Sitting in the palm of the medic's hand, Renalt appeared as a white-clothed statue, carved of perfect stone.

Fowler wondered what exactly the medic had told Renalt, but the thought was cast away in an instant. It wasn't his concern. His concern was his objective and his objective was to keep William Renalt Haakon away from Team Prime.

"Forgive me, _Ratch_', but I prefer human ethics over your mechanical tricks," Fowler spat.

"You. Are. Not. _Worthy_. _Do not_ call me that," Ratchet spoke each word as if his mouth shot spears of ice, as if he intended, expected, _wanted_ his words to be such spears against Fowler's human heart. Four humans called him "Ratch'". Agent William Fowler was not one of them.

"I'll call you what I like, _Doc_."

There was barely a sound then. Somehow, silence draped itself like a wet blanket over Omega One. Arcee stalked forward, flanked by Bulkhead and Bumblebee. They were ready for a fight, ready to shake sense into this fatted-calf of an agent. If they were honest with themselves, the three Autobots had murder in their optics. Only Optimus' hand held them back. His hand. His gesture. The Prime needed no words to hold his team back but Optimus wondered how long that would be. He wondered how long his own patience could hold out.

"That kid's coming with me. I'll come for the other three later."

Optimus Prime found his answer.

The movement was swift and sure; his other hand plucking Fowler up by the back-scruff of his coat. The Prime was not one for ill treatment, but this once, he dangled Fowler over the edge of the catwalk. Two minutes passed in a stalemate – He could no sooner drop Fowler than the agent could truly take on the Prime. The Cybertronian put Fowler back down none too gently on the catwalks, unlocking the floodgates to Fowler's voice once again.

"This is why I don't trust you, Prime. Hand over the kid or surrender Omega One."

"_My name_ is Renalt."

Ratchet passed Renalt to the Prime, noting the boy's attire. Once again, he had covered his face. He still wore white, nothing but white except for one difference. Metal graced his neck now. It was the necklace, however crudely fashioned it was. The silvery metal was a wide band set with that too-blue stone. He wore it like a badge of honour, like some mantle only royalty was allowed to wear. The medic's mind snatched itself to the past, remembering the day Optimus had fashioned it, the day he had offered it. He remembered the day a new oath had been struck; that day which seemed like forever ago, yet wasn't even a week old.

=s=

"_Renalt, I cannot take back what was done. I can only ask that you hold onto me. I can only ask you to accept what I offer in the spirit that I offer it. Will you?"_

_Renalt stood in Optimus' room upon the Prime's berth. Before him, the Cybertronian took a knee and stretched out a hand, extending a finger. A nudge let Renalt know where that finger was. Human fingers trailed along the finger, finding a new metallic object resting thereon. Neither spoke as human fingers investigated the object. Renalt almost-smiled at it. Honestly, it was a beautiful piece to him in its simplicity. He finally spoke as tears threatened._

"_I can't let him go. I promised that..."_

"_I know. I do not ask you to let him go. I ask you to lean on me, to let me help you as he once did. Carry him on in us. Make him immortal. I told you in our connection through the patch that I could show you Primus. I told you that I would not let you fall. Will you let me catch you?"_

"_Are you sure? This war of yours – "_

"_Is still being fought. You and the other children are a reminder of why we fight. This war has taken enough away. Fate has taken enough away. Will you permit me to give back?"_

_Renalt didn't know what to say at first. Here was a dream of Leonard's own, here was a dream to meet an alien creature and Leonard wasn't the one doing it. Leonard wasn't here to remind him that yes, Renalt owed him a drink. Leonard wasn't here to bask in the presence of interstellar visitors, wasn't here to shake the hand of a titan. Renalt was here. He had done more than shake a titan's hand. Renalt thought back to the willing connection, to the Prime's vivid descriptions of Iacon. To the Prime's own pain at widowhood. He thought back to the many times he had tried to end his own life. It must have shown in his face, for the Prime spoke once again._

"_I do not know how you believe, Renalt. I believe Leonard is here. Within me. Within you, listening to us now. Sparks cannot truly be extinguished unless you allow them to be."_

_"Wh-What...exactly is a spark?"_

"_In whose terms?"_

"_Yours."_

"_It is what makes a Cybertronian who he or she is. It is eternal, forged by Primus Himself. We do not cease to exist, Renalt. Do you remember the Well of All Sparks?"_

"_Yes."_

"_That is where we go. And that is where we come from."_

"_Do you drown in it?"_

"_No. We are always ourselves, but we too, are always One."_

"_I'd...I think I'd like to see it for real some day."_

_Optimus smiled. "Then I shall take you to it, should the opportunity arise."_

"_I don't know how to repay you. You've...done a lot," Renalt hung his head and turned away. He could understand at least partially; he could find perspective, at least partially. A wave of shame engulfed him._

_Prime's other hand lowered, gently turning Renalt back around to face him._

"_You need not do so, but if you insist, I will only ask one thing of you: That you let me help you. That you let me build you back up. Will you call me friend?"_

_Soft pedfalls echoed from somewhere beyond the Prime. Ratchet had seen enough, watching quietly from the Prime's doorway. He had heard the question and as he left, he had heard the response. The medic didn't need to be witness to the final pact – it was a moment meant for the Prime and Renalt alone. It was theirs. He didn't need to perform another check on the human or the Autobot. Medical checks had faded off after the poison had been purged._

_Ratchet didn't need to hear Optimus stop Renalt from scratching himself. He didn't need to hear Renalt explain what he was trying to do. He didn't need to hear the Prime gently object, or propose another method._

_Ratchet didn't need to hear the same words echoed again. In the place where Ratchet could be honest with himself, he didn't want to hear the oath struck. He didn't want to hear echoes of a thirteen year old boy in this new promise. He didn't want to witness his Prime mingle energon with human blood as Renalt and Leonard had done nearly two years ago._

_Ratchet didn't want to hear another Hallelujah._

=s=

"Ratchet?"

The medic snapped out of his reverie, blinking away tell-tale moisture from his optics at the Prime's gentle tone. He forced his mind onto his Prime, Fowler, and Renalt.

"Put him down, Prime," Fowler intruded upon Ratchet's observations, unaware of the thoughts which now writhed within the heads of everyone around him. He watched Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead step back, then turn their backs on him in silence. He heard Renalt's shaking whisper, watched the boy upturn his face, trying to meet the Prime's gaze. Trying to do something he could never do.

"You said..."

"I know, Renalt," The words were ground out, forced out from behind a voice that was on the verge of losing composure. The Prime lifted a finger, lightly touching the necklace that Renalt wore with such pride, such conviction. A metallic, pliable fingertip pressed in just so upon the startlingly blue stone that was the necklace's centrepiece. It gave a soundless twinge at the touch, sending a little shiver down Renalt's back and through his very core, then up the Prime's arm. It was a silent command, a silent communication. It was a reminder of the one thing it could do, this piece of jewellery.

"I can't."

"For now, you must. Only for now," Optimus' finger stroked Renalt's back as he placed the boy down onto Omega One's floor. Unreadable optics watched as Fowler descended, taking Renalt by the arm. The man wasn't rough, but neither was he too gentle. Unreadable optics watched as Fowler handed Renalt a new cane but never let go of his arm, watched whilst somehow remaining dry. Too dry.

"_There's a blaze of light in every word  
__It doesn't matter which you heard,  
__The holy or the broken Hallelujah."_

"Him or the base, Prime. This is a _human_ world."

Fowler spoke a final time as the human-sized door closed behind them, either unaware or uncaring of Renalt's own whispering chant; one that Optimus Prime echoed in a voice so deep that his words were not heard as much as they were felt beneath the ground. It was a sound that defined Omega One, almost drowning out the clear threat in Fowler's last words. One by one, the Autobots left the main chamber, each going their separate ways be it to go on patrol or to a private chamber, until only Ratchet and Optimus Prime stood together in the main space.

"_And even though it all went wrong,  
__I'll stand before the Lords of Song  
__With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah."_

"Optimus, I have Renalt's life signal activated. We can see him whenever you wish," It was a failed attempt to bring Optimus Prime out of this new state he found his leader in. He watched the Prime and listened to his deep voice echo verses Renalt had taught him not even a week ago. The armour cracked. Before Ratchet's optics, that armour shattered and fell away. Optimus Prime's brilliant blue optics dimmed, turning a shade of cobalt blue that nearly matched his armour.

"Optimus, please. Listen. You ensured that you could reach him. We have the others to think of. Do you hear me? We did not save one life only to have you lose yourself."

Ratchet's pleas fell upon deaf audials. With only that deep, haunting chant echoing behind him, Optimus Prime walked like a bent old man down the hall. The door to his berth room slammed shut, cracking a little space in a corner on the far wall. The medic expected a sound. A roar, a howl, anything. Part of him even dared to wish the Prime to wail, to cry out as he did when Elita-One died in his arms. It was not to be. No sound came forth and Ratchet stood alone in the middle of the base wondering, breaking at this new silence.

It was the sort of silence that bade the medic get down on his knees and pray.

"Oh, Primus. Please _do not break us so_."

He didn't want to hear another _Hallelujah_.


	26. Divergence

**To Have a Spark  
****Divergence**

_"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."  
-_Helen Keller

The drive away from Omega One was silent, oppressively silent, for its first two hours. At first, Fowler didn't seem to care, letting Renalt keep to his own dark thoughts. William Fowler kept his eyes on the road, yet his mind too, was a thousand miles away. He thought back to the role he had played in the Prime's first attempt to reach the teenager that now sat beside him and the pang of guilt twisted inside. It twisted, seeming to split off and create another kind of guilt.

The kind of guilt that made William Fowler question his decision.

_This is a human world_.

The question of guilt subsided as the words reverberated in his mind. This was indeed, a human world. It was risky enough to let Jack, Miko and Raf near the 'Bots, but to let a cripple in was unthinkable. To him, Renalt belonged in an asylum, learning how to fold bed sheets, pounding out that head-spinning code called Braille and generally, being forgotten by the rest of normal society. It was unthinkable – all of it. In all reason, Fowler wondered why he had accepted the job as liaison to those mechanical titans in the first place.

His mind dragged itself to the first day he had encountered them.

=s=

_Agent William Fowler stood in front of his CO with a dumbfounded expression on his face. The sheaf of papers in his hands bore the black-and-white of his orders: Investigate a strange impact outside of Jasper, Nevada. It screamed Area 51. It had Roswell written all over it. Yet they were sending him._

"_General, don't you think our boys in Nevada would be better suited?"_

"_And they're still busy with findings at Area 51. So I'm sending you," General Bryce's tone brooked no argument. This was an order and William Fowler was still a serviceman, even if he never wore fatigues again. Officially, that is._

_Fowler took a plane to Reno, Nevada and rented a car for the remainder of the trip to Jasper. The trip itself was uneventful and Fowler toyed with the hope that it was some kid's idea of a prank, or some dull-witted civilian – was it just him, or was average American IQ dropping by the year? – who mistook a UFO for a weather balloon. If it was a weather balloon, he could head back home, give Bryce a piece of his mind and not be discharged for it. He might end up owing the man a drink but it was the better of two alternatives._

_It wasn't some punk kid pranking. Or a clueless civilian._

_A metallic, humanoid figure towered above him with nothing but the sun and the vast Nevada desert as a backdrop._

"_Greetings. Are you the native life-form on this planet?" The voice the towering figure possessed thundered quietly down to Agent Fowler. And for a minute, the blustery special agent-later-turned-liaison didn't know what to say._

=s=

Fowler drifted out of his reverie to find Renalt still as quiet as ever. Had the boy been able to see, Fowler fancied he'd be staring out through the window. The silence was getting to him as they left Jasper far behind. He decided to try and break that silence, part of him hoping to perhaps bring this kid out of his shell.

"You know... I'm only trying to help you."

"You lied as much as he did," Renalt's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I didn't like his plan...I didn't know about that other idea of his. It's not right, you know. He invaded your head."

"And then asked me to walk around in his own."

Fowler didn't know what to say to that. The Prime had erred with the best of intentions. It hadn't made it right, but Fowler soon latched onto those last words.

"He let you into his head?"

"Asked me to."

"Did you do it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Repentance...of a sort."

"What was it like, in the big lug's head?"

Renalt scowled then, responding with silence. That was a private matter, one that he was unwilling to allow others to know about. It was _his_ lifeline. His conundrum to unravel and his duality of invasion and trust. Silence fell again on the two as Fowler's vehicle pulled up in front of a building that was clearly a medical institution even as the place tried to look more like a friendly haven. Upon parking, William Fowler got out and guided Renalt to the door of this place.

"Well, this is it until your Mom gets back from another tour of duty. She left for Japan last night. Welcome to Cloverbottom. You'll be better off. Good luck, son."

Renalt tuned him out as Fowler dealt with the woman that answered the door, letting his mind go instead to the base he had begun to feel safe in. Paperwork was a universal thing, and after a few signatures, Fowler left the grounds without another word. He never saw Renalt's hate-filled glare as this woman whose name he didn't bother to learn escorted the teenager into the building. None of them were aware of the little drone that circled above.

=s=

"Autobots, roll out!" Optimus Prime's command rang out as it always did, but it had the beginnings of a tone Ratchet didn't like. He watched his team roar through the ground-bridge, ignoring Fowler as he entered Omega One through his customary elevator.

"Hey, Ratch'," Fowler greeted the medic as if nothing unusual had taken place. As if nothing unusual existed between himself and his Cybertronian companions. It made Ratchet's eyes narrow in disgust.

"I told you. Do not call me that."

"Moo-dy," Fowler rolled his eyes at the tone he received.

"And you know perfectly well why. You blackmailed us."

"Sorry, Doc, but I didn't realise mind-invasion was an acceptable form of treatment for the mentally unstable," Fowler shot. Before the human could take another breath, Ratchet was inches from the man's face. Star-blue optics glared at the man before him.

"You didn't _see_ him up there. You didn't see Optimus Prime's fear. Not like we did. Optimus Prime...we all are trying to face these concepts in front of us. It isn't enough for you though, is it? We lose our home, watch it go dark and die. We witness a human and find a similar pain in him that we all have, and it's not enough for you that we were making progress. That we were saving one when we can't currently save our home. It won't be enough for you until you can control us, will it?"

William Fowler could stare down his superior officers. He could stare down General Bryce during a report. He couldn't stare down the Cybertronian physician before him, nor could he deny the words. As disgusting as it made him feel, the man recognised the need for control in himself. He managed to dredge up a question in the face of a healer who wasn't allowed to heal.

"How's Prime?"

"Do you want a medical analysis?"

"Just...how is he?"

"You'll see for yourself soon enough," was the response Fowler received. So he waited, observing the medic as he turned back around to monitor Team Prime's current energon excursion. Omega One was quiet at this time of day, with Miko, Jack and Rafael attending classes. The quiet was usually peaceful, but not today. Today, it was almost oppressive.

The ground-bridge opened an hour later. Fowler watched the Autobots emerge from the blue-green glow and had to will himself not to react. Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee entered Omega One looking tired, weary. They bore minor scrapes and dents on the outside. On the inside, something emanated from them. Something cold. Something guarded.

And then Optimus Prime stepped through.

Energon stained the Prime's hands and arms, clear up to his elbow joints. His battle-mask bore gray spots Fowler found he didn't like. His stride was as steady as ever, except for the slight bend in the Prime's hip struts, as if the Autobot was carrying a load too heavy for him. Although Fowler knew that Cybertronians had no need to breathe, the sound coming from the Prime's voice was something he could only equate to breathing: A rough, unsteady sort of breathing. All of this was enough to put a shiver in Fowler's gut, but it was Optimus Prime's optics that held the man frozen in his place. The once brilliant, star-blue shine had dimmed. The optics were more a dark cobalt now, bearing a similar coldness that fairly wafted off of the other Autobots like a perfume.

The ever-present hope was dying in Optimus Prime's eyes.


	27. Code-Talker

**To Have a Spark  
****Code-Talker**

_"By all means, let's be open-minded, but not so open-minded that our brains drop out."  
-_Richard Dawkins

Optimus Prime stared at Agent Fowler with an expression that couldn't be called an expression at all. His face was as unreadable as ever, but those optics were disturbing. Those eyes were dim, cobalt blue, not the little stars they should have been. He found himself the object of every optic within Omega One, the object of that same expressionless stare.

His words came back to haunt him like angry ghosts, like draugr crawling up from the grave. At first, no one said a word – the Autobots had no words for him and Fowler found a growing lump in his throat. He cleared it after a moment, dragging out feeble words.

"Look, Prime... I'm sorry. I won't separate the others, but the retarded kid – "

"Agent. Fowler. Use that word in my presence again, and I will experiment on you," Ratchet was the first to speak, grinding out his words from visibly clenched dentae. The Autobot had had plenty of time to research human disability and the vocabulary that went along with it. That word, he discovered, was as unacceptable as the human racial slurs he had come across.

"It's not like it's a racist word, Ratchet," Fowler returned.

"There is racism. And then there is ableism. That word is ableist. Would you desire that I call you a niggard?"

"The word is 'nigger'. And no, I'd rather you not call me that. I'd be mighty offended."

"Then afford Renalt the same dignity and do not use that insulting word to describe him. You humans have already demonstrated your distinct lack of decency toward people afflicted with defects."

Once again, Fowler found himself blushing. It wasn't "political correctness" as he had argued with colleagues in the past. It was societal weakness warring with a sense of dignity, and he knew it. He stood there a-blush, finding shame righteously set within. Fowler nodded, regaining composure and managing to accept the correction smoothly enough. He wasn't the only one growing here.

"Right...Pennhurst. Sorry. Anyway, look, I'm trying to think of safety for all concerned here."

"Safety for whom?" Arcee spoke up then. No one tried to stop her.

"Him. And you. You know what the 'Cons would do given the chance, and if General Bryce thinks any of us cross any more lines...it'd be the end of Team Prime."

"Which would mean what, Agent Fowler?" Ratchet chimed in.

"It would mean..." Fowler gulped. The words in his head were about to solidify a strange fear that had begun to settle in his gut. "You would be fugitives."

There. He said it. It didn't make him feel any better; rather it made him feel worse. What good would it do, to banish these beings, thus destroying any line of defence against the Decepticon Legions? _A few good men...  
_The words rang through his mind. _All we need is a few good men_. It hurt to hear these words. Words that usually brought comfort and assurance that those few good men could defeat any adversary that beset them. A few good men to defeat an enemy that had found its way to Earth, an enemy that humans had no way of defeating on their own without going down in the process.

"Can I speak to you alone, Prime?"

"You may. The others need recharge."

"Optimus – "

"I will be along after I speak with Agent Fowler. Do not worry."

The others trudged away to their own berths and Prime didn't pretend to not hear Ratchet's muttered words as the medic passed by his Prime.

"We will worry, Optimus. How can we not?"

Briefly, Optimus reflected upon the battle they all had come in from. It wasn't intended to be a bloody fight over what amounted to a small energon reserve, but with Decepticons around, simple fetching of energon became just that: A bloody life-or-death struggle. Optimus didn't deny it either; the fight had been more ferocious than usual. Now that he looked back, he almost shuddered at the coldness the Autobot now felt as it melted slowly away. The coldness that had been in his dimmed optics and the utter lack of mercy in his metallic hands.  
_How many did he kill this time?_

Optimus Prime snapped out of his dark musings as Fowler spoke up again; the agent leaning a little on the catwalk railing. His tone was almost unreadable, carrying the weight of his superior officer, General Bryce, and the weight of his own decision. Fowler looked closely at the Autobot titan and imagined, as only a soldier can, what horrors the Prime had seen and perhaps, had been forced to commit.

"Prime, I honestly don't know what to do here. We're shattering so many regulations it isn't funny, but... No soldier can operate as a soldier in your condition."

"My condition?"

"Look at yourself! You're covered in blood – er – energon... Your eyes look like you don't get any sleep. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and you're tiring out."

Optimus sighed. "Yes... Yes, Agent Fowler. I am tired. I am tired of losing everything I find. Tired of watching every light I come across go dark. I am so very tired. I have fought for aeons in a losing battle. I have seen my own Creator – a God, if you will – fall into sleep while another awakens. I have lost countless friends and warriors. I am widowed. Yes, Agent Fowler. I am tired."

Agent Fowler was silent for a long while as he heard this admission. Optimus Prime was the strongest being the human had known – he had seen this 'Bot take on a God and win. He had seen some of this loss first-hand. And yet, more was asked of Prime with each passing day. So Optimus gave more, asking nothing in return until that night William Renalt Haakon III had attempted to end his own life. It was that night that Optimus Prime had been bold enough to ask one thing of Fowler, of everyone around him, of the life he desired to save. It was a first among nevers, the nevers that demanded the Prime never ask anything remotely for himself.  
So he never asked.

_Until now_.

Fowler cleared his throat, pushing down the emotions welling within. He could crack later. It was time to be the Commanding Officer, the Special Agent Liaison that he was, as per his General's orders.

"I don't know how we'll handle this, Prime, but we'll do something. I can't let you see the kid too often yet – People may start asking questions. But maybe you can check in on him. Cloverbottom allows once-a-week visitations for family and clergy."

"What is 'clergy'?" Optimus didn't bother to hide the weariness in his voice this time.

"It's a word we use for priests, preachers, monks. People of the cloth, people who are considered religious leaders or religious authorities."

"Thousands of beliefs, thousands of leaders?"

"You...could put it that way, yes."

"What are the criteria for 'Clergy'?"

"Well, you have to be a spiritual or religious leader, according to whatever religion you follow. You have a God right?"

"Two. And the Thirteen Primes, Agent Fowler."

"Right. Two gods and thirteen...Christs?"

"You could call them lesser gods, or chief priests, however the duties of a Prime cover much more than what I am capable of explaining at this point."

"You'll have to educate me sometime. For now...get some rest, Prime. Please. Take care of yourself. You've got people here who can't lose you, you know," Fowler responded. A glance at his watch informed him that it was already well past midnight.

Optimus Prime said nothing as he turned to leave for his own room. This time, he pretended not to hear Agent Fowler as he left.

"I'll make it up to you, Prime."


	28. Code-Talker II: Without Words

**To Have a Spark  
****Code-Talker II: Without Words**

_"I have to run like a fugitive to save the life I live,  
__I'm gonna be iron like a lion in Zion."  
-_Bob Marley;_ Iron Lion Zion_

Renalt gave Dr. Brixton a disgusted, confused look.

Dr. Tanya Brixton knew the look well. It was the expression of one who hadn't been educated, who didn't know. It was a look she intended to eliminate, not by force or coercion, but by enlightenment. She held in one hand a cup of what looked like harmless, light green tea. To the untrained eye, that's all it was – Tea.

"Renalt, I know it seems strange. Will you let me explain why I'm prescribing this to you?"

"You're prescribing cannabis. A Schedule I substance," Renalt coldly replied.

Dr. Brixton put the cup of tea down on an end table. The slightly portly woman with greying hair wasn't easy to anger; if she was, she wouldn't be fit for this job. Guiding Renalt to a nearby desk, she pulled a chair for both of them.

"I know its current status, and it's changing, Renalt. Are you aware of the medical studies conducted so far? Are you aware of this year's numbers alone?"

"What are you talking about?" Renalt asked. Although wary – he had heard all of the _Just Say No_ propaganda but at the time, he hadn't even thought to consider that any of its information was flawed.

"I'm not talking about putting you on something hard or harsh, Renalt. Like you, I despise many medications currently available – medications that do more damage than good."

"You mean like antidepressants?"

"Some, yes. And the all-too-easy access to other substances intended for specific use. The reason I'm suggesting cannabis to you is because of its gentleness. It has no side effects except two."

"What are they?" Renalt wondered. He hated side effects, believing that side effects could render a medicine useless.

"Mild short-term memory loss and, as some of our other patients term it, 'the munchies'. The memory loss is easily countered with ginkgo and mint. You've been here a few days now. You've noticed our dietary patterns here," she replied. Dr. Brixton remained gentle in her manner – she knew Renalt had been essentially, snatched from the arms of a new-found friend. A friend that had, as she understood it, saved his life. It wasn't easy to part from that.

"Are there other options? I don't want to end up addicted to something weird," Renalt asked. He was met with Dr. Brixton's laughter.

"It's non-addictive, boy. Listen. You try this tea for me. Try it at twice-a-day dosage for one month. If it doesn't work, or if it makes you feel unpleasant, we'll try other options. All right?"

"A-All right. I'll consider it."

Dr. Brixton left Renalt to read and listen to some material she had gathered on cannabis and its uses. She smiled as she glanced back at him, tentatively trying a sip of the tea she had provided. The woman didn't need to do more than hear Renalt delve into the Braille adapted books piled around and the audio-read documents on the computer in front of him.  
She left him to study as much as he wished, knowing it was as much a coping reaction as it was a need to find out exactly what he was being prescribed.

"Dr. Brixton?" A nurse breezed by.

"Yes?"

"A Mr. ….Prime is here to see you."

"Has he been shown in?"

"No, he refuses to vacate his truck."

"I'll go. See to Mrs. Pichonne, will you?"

She watched as her younger nurse, a vibrant little Lithuanian transplant breezed off with a smile on her dimpled face. That girl loved her job, she could tell. Back to the matter at hand, Dr. Brixton headed off to Cloverbottom's front door.  
Sure enough, there sat an impressive eighteen-wheel rig, running bobtail. It was painted a rather flashy red-and-blue scheme and bore an emblem she had never seen before. The man inside the cab sat calmly, with a strange air of gentle authority. Muscular but not overly so, he sported a head of thick black hair that, in the right light, shone blue. His craggy face was dusted with greying beard. It was the eyes that caught Dr. Brixton off-guard.  
The eyes were a piercing shade of blue she was certain wasn't entirely possible in human genetics.

"Ah, Mister... Prime, is it?"

"Yes, Madam. I am here to see William Renalt Haakon III," Dr. Brixton couldn't hide the faint smile upon hearing the deep, resonating voice of this odd man.

"Are you family?"

"I am a...cloth-man, Madam," Prime wasn't entirely sure on the terminology, but he hoped. Fowler had allowed him this and he wouldn't dare squander it. He was glad that he'd prepared, forming his 'clothing' into a plain dark blue frock-like piece. It more resembled a Buddhist monk's attire but a priest is a priest.

"Cloth... Oh! Oh, I see now, pardon me, Father."

"Prime will do, Madam," came the reply. He felt strange being called anything other than his name.

"Ah, all right. Unfortunately, it isn't Saturday yet. Will you be in town tomorrow?"

"Saturday... I was early. My apologies," Dr. Brixton didn't comment on the slight change in the man's voice. She didn't speak on the sadness that laced its way through the calm, even detached, exterior.

"It's tomorrow, Mr. Prime. If you like, there's a motel down the road from here."

"I will return tomorrow morning. I expect Renalt is well?"

"As well as can be, sir. He is taking the transition as well as can be expected, given his upbringing and all that's happened."

The Prime's voice changed again, deepening into something Dr. Brixton secretly noted as a warning. A warning to never cross this man. "If Renalt is maltreated in any fashion, Doctor, I will have him out of there in a heartbeat."

Dr. Brixton offered a nod and a smile. She wasn't about to contest it. Satisfied by something in her expression, Prime began to drive off, back toward Omega One. It seemed things were going to get interesting with a man like that visiting Cloverbottom. Tanya Brixton had seen quite a bit in her day and she wasn't yet an old woman. However, what soon unfolded before her, was one for the books.

=s=

Optimus Prime scowled to himself. He was early, but he'd be back. His word meant as much to him has his own team, and in his mind, Team Prime had an addition to its ranks, as much as Fowler had wanted to deny it. As distant as he was being kept, Team Prime numbered not eight, but nine. Ten, if one counted Fowler himself as the government liaison he was.

Concentrating on the road, he almost missed Laserbeak's faint buzzing overhead.

Almost.

Believing himself far enough away from Cloverbottom itself, the Prime transformed and stood tall against a squad of Vehicons. Neither Starscream, Dreadwing, Knockout nor Airachnid were among the ranks of foot-soldiers. Yet there were a good forty of them facing the Prime.

"There is no energon here. Stand down," the Prime's command rang out, though it went unheeded. His battle-mask clipped into place as the first shot was fired. The shot was sloppy, badly aimed, meant to slow him down rather than do actual damage. Other Vehicons were upon him in seconds, trading blows with the Prime.  
Optimus no longer cared about restraint. Each Vehicon that he faced, the Cybertronian laid into with everything his hands had. His guns, his blades weren't necessary here, and something in him wanted to feel _his hands_ taking apart the problem before him. He wanted to feel_ his hands_ being productive, _his hands_ between the Decepticons and the ones he cared for. Above him, Laserbeak remained at a safe distance, listening and watching. Laserbeak was a surveillance drone. A spy. Not a warrior.

"I will not have you take him from me," From somewhere in the shadows of his voice, Optimus Prime rumbled quietly to the mechs he had taken down. One of the Vehicons left standing was bold enough to confront the Prime directly.

"Everything is Lord Megatron's. Everything," the Vehicon taunted. It was to become his epitaph. While others were wise enough to retreat, taking their fallen companions with them, this Vehicon died a fool. He didn't take seriously the Prime's quiet, savage growl. He didn't take seriously the Prime's darkening optics. From star-blue to disturbing cobalt they went. The last thing the Vehicon was aware of was his own scream as Optimus Prime performed an act similar to de-boning him like a fish ready for the fryer.

Tanya Brixton had good eyes. Very good eyes. She stood out of harm's way from what she witnessed, but she watched it all unfold. At first, she watched with the detached, analytical gaze of a doctor, a physician. She then found herself staring in a mixture of horror and disbelief as this 'man' had transformed into a metallic titan and proceeded to take others like himself apart, treating them like hostile enemies.  
She saw the energon fly. She saw the ferocity of the battle, and the fate of that last Vehicon.

Tanya Brixton was glad she wasn't within earshot of whatever that one had said to the one she knew as 'Mr. Prime'. She didn't need to know the words to deduce the threat.

The growl so deep that it was felt in the ground, was enough.

=s=

"You are sure, Soundwave?"

The silent mech said nothing as Megatron questioned him. All he did, ever needed to do, was repeat back what he had heard, and what Laserbeak recorded. His little drone had flown as silently, as dexterously, as swiftly as expected. It had listened hard to everything and everyone, hearing the human Agent Fowler and this new boy, Renalt. It had listened dutifully to a conversation that hadn't been meant for any ears but those of Agent Fowler and Renalt Haakon. It was a stolen conversation, with stolen words.

Stolen words gift-wrapped for Megatron by the Decepticons' most effective spy and communications technician.

He was sure of everything he heard. He always was and, upon hearing Megatron's sceptical question, the silent mech simply gave a 'look' without expression at all. It was strange, disturbing, how Soundwave could do that. His face was hidden behind that black glass, yet with that blank void, he could subtly display any emotion he desired – or none at all.

"_You lied as much as he did... …didn't like his plan... ...Yes, Madam. Unfortunately, it isn't Saturday yet. ...tomorrow morning..."_

"Hm. Point taken, Soundwave. Keep watching them. I will want us to act soon, but not yet. Understood?"

Soundwave's only response was to send Laserbeak out again. Laserbeak went where Vehicons couldn't go. He heard what a foot soldier would never be privy to. Through Laserbeak, Soundwave went out into the places where he could shatter walls, hear the most damning words. Out into the places where he could listen, out into the places where secrets could be stolen.


End file.
